


Perception

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [75]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Fillory, Clinically Depressed Quentin, Eliot is smitten with Q, F/F, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, and then he wants the whole nerd, he wants himself a piece of that nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Brakebills is absolutelymagical.Well, of course it is in theliteralsense, being a school of magic, but it's also just... It's amazing. Gorgeous campus, interesting classes and people - even if Quentin's roommate seems like an insufferable dick - and, of course,magic is real.The only hiccup so far is the fact that Julia is here - and rooming somewhere else. Quentin hasn't seen her in more than passing since the entrance exam, so when, after orientation, there's a brief knock on his door, Quentin is expecting Julia. Therefore, he's caught completely off-guard when his door is slung open to allow Eliot and some stranger into his and Penny's room. "Uh," he says, scrambling upright on his bed. "Hi?""You weren't kidding," the woman says thoughtfully, apparently not to Quentin. "He is cute."
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker
Series: Collaborations [75]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 10
Kudos: 243





	Perception

Brakebills is absolutely _magical._

Well, of course it is in the _literal_ sense, being a school of magic, but it's also just... It's amazing. Gorgeous campus, interesting classes and people - even if Quentin's roommate seems like an insufferable dick - and, of course, _magic is real._

The only hiccup so far is the fact that Julia is here - and rooming somewhere else. Quentin hasn't seen her in more than passing since the entrance exam, so when, after orientation, there's a brief knock on his door, Quentin is expecting Julia. Therefore, he's caught completely off-guard when his door is slung open to allow Eliot and some stranger into his and Penny's room. "Uh," he says, scrambling upright on his bed. "Hi?"

"You weren't kidding," the woman says thoughtfully, apparently not to Quentin. "He is cute."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Quentin, this is Margo. Margo, Quentin." He grins. "We're here to give you the tour."

Quentin blinks. "The tour?" he echoes. 

"Of campus," Eliot clarifies.

Margo gives him a sharp grin. "We need to point out the Forbidden Forest to you or you'll wander off and get eaten."

”Oh.” Quentin blinks again, shifts so he’s sitting on the side of his bed. “Um. Why do I feel like that’s where you live?”

Margo's grin sharpens further, but Eliot waves a hand. "Pay her no attention at all, Quentin. It's a big campus, we're just going to show you around. Do you want to come?"

”Uh, sure?” Quentin doesn’t _sound_ sure, but he’s getting off of the bed and reaching for his shoes nonetheless. “Is it just going to be us?”

"What, do you think we're going to hike around campus with a gaggle of eager first years behind us?" Margo asks. "No, sweetie, this is all for you."

”Okay.” Quentin slides his shoes on, straightens, and grabs his coat. “Well, uh. Lead the way, I guess?”

Eliot’s beaming grin is only marginally more comforting than Margo’s shark grin, but Quentin squares his shoulders and follows them out of his dorm nonetheless.

For all their teasing, Margo and Eliot are actually pretty decent campus guides, and Quentin feels like he’s learning a lot more about Brakebills than he learned in orientation. As they pass the library - which Margo and Eliot both proclaim ‘useful but boring’ - Quentin spots Julia coming out of the door, and knows his expression has lit up. “Jules!” he calls, waving when Julia’s head lifts. 

Julia’s own expression brightens, and she tucks her book under her arm and makes a beeline for them, immediately wrapping Quentin in a hug. “Q! I thought you’d be hiding out in your room. Who is this?”

Quentin pulls away, keeping an arm around Julia’s waist, feeling the tension at the back of his neck leaking away in Julia’s familiar presence. “Jules, this is Eliot and Margo. Eliot, Margo, this is Julia, my best friend.”

"This is a development," Margo says.

Eliot ignores her, and extends a hand. "We're giving Quentin a tour of the campus - would you like to join us?"

"A tour?" Julia asks, interested. "No offense, but you two don't look like the typical campus tour guides. How did you meet Q?"

"Eliot was the one who met me when I got here yesterday," Quentin says. "Led me to the entrance exam."

One eyebrow rises. "Really? I didn't have a guide."

Eliot turns abruptly to Margo, who shrugs. "Hardly anyone does."

It doesn't escape Julia and Quentin's notice that Eliot doesn't seem terribly pleased with that answer, but Quentin just shrugs. "I mean, I _did_ stumble out of the woods, almost fall on my face, and then, well, stammer at you for a few minutes before asking if you were a hallucination."

"You were a special case," Eliot says, smoothly wrapping an arm around Quentin's shoulders and starting to walk again. "But we're doing this tour just because we feel like it, so don't go bragging or you'll make all the other ducklings jealous."

Quentin's eyes widen, and his own arm tightens around Julia's waist, pulling her along with him and Eliot. "Oh, uh. I wasn't. Going to brag, that is? Who would I even be bragging to? I only know you two and Julia and Penny, and Penny is a dick and probably wouldn't believe me anyway if he even stuck around to listen."

"Who's Penny?" Margo asks, linking her arm through Eliot's so that they can walk four abreast. They almost immediately get in the way of a student walking towards them, but Margo just glares at her until she huffs and walks around them. "And since when is that a boy name?"

"My roommate," Quentin says. "Temporary roommate? I don't know, he muttered something I didn't catch, glared at me, and then walked out of our room almost immediately after I met him. Haven't seen him since."

"Don't worry about him," Eliot says breezily. "You'll be tested in a few weeks to find out what your discipline is, and then you'll be out of there."

Quentin blinks. "Discipline?"

"The thing you're the best at, basically," Margo tells him. "Eliot and I are Physical kids. I'm good with ice, Eliot is telekinetic."

Julia makes an interested noise. "What other disciplines are there?"

Margo and Eliot take turns explaining the different disciplines while they walk around campus, and also take turns pointing out different buildings and areas as well as people that they encounter along the way. It's a nice enough way to spend an hour or so, even if Margo seems to get a kick out of winding Quentin up to no end. Eliot does his best to rein her in, but Quentin gets the impression that she doesn't like to be restricted, because she doubles her efforts every time he shuts her down. It's worth it, though, for the way Eliot seems hell-bent on defending him.

Julia notices, too. Once their tour is concluded and Eliot and Margo have returned to the Physical Cottage with the promise of an invitation to dinner later in the week, they decide to go back to Julia's room to avoid Penny - and as soon as they're alone, Julia pounces. "So Eliot is, like, insanely attractive," she says. "And he likes you _a lot._ "

Quentin flushes heavily, his gaze dropping. "No, he doesn't," he says, but its weak. "I'm just - new."

Julia points at him. "But you admit he's insanely attractive," she says, encouraged. "And he said himself that he took you out for that tour because he wanted to. He kept touching you the whole time!"

Quentin groans, letting himself flop sideways across Julia's bed. "Okay, yes, he's really, _really_ hot, but... I'm new, Jules. And he - you heard all their talk about the Physical parties."

"That they invited you to," Julia reminds him. "Apparently no one gets invited to the Physical parties before they've found out their discipline!"

Quentin squints at Julia. “How do you know that?”

"Margo told me while you two were flirting," Julia says. "She wanted to impress upon me the honour we were being granted."

”We weren’t _flirting!_ ” Quentin protests. “Well, I mean. Maybe Eliot was? But I wasn’t!”

"I'll give you that," Julia allows with an incline of her head. "God knows you wouldn't know flirting if it bit you on the ass. But he was definitely interested."

Quentin fumbles for Julia's pillow, pressing it over his face for a moment before lifting it and hugging it to his chest. "Even if he _is,_ he's probably not looking for a relationship," he sighs. "And I don't - You know me, Jules."

Julia's expression softens. "I do," she says. "Which is why I think you should just chill the fuck out and see where it goes."

Quentin blows out a harsh breath. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll... I’ll try.”

Julia smiles. "I love you, Q."

"Love you, too, Jules."

* * *

"Quentin!" Eliot cries as soon as he throws the door open. "And Julia. You're just in time. Here." He hands Julia the cocktail he's holding and wraps an arm around Quentin's shoulders, guiding him into the cottage. "I just finished a batch of our signature cocktail and you _have_ to try it."

Quentin tosses Julia a wide-eyed look, but doesn't have any option but to follow Eliot. "Uh, okay. What's it called?"

"People just call it the Blue Thing," Eliot answers with a wave of his free hand. "That's all anyone can remember about it after their second glass." They reach the bar, where a glass full of a bright blue, vaguely shimmering cocktail is waiting for them, and Eliot picks it up. "Here, try it."

Quentin looks dubious as he takes the cocktail from Eliot, lifting it to his lips and taking a small sip. He makes a surprised noise, eyebrows raising. "Okay, that's pretty damn good."

Eliot grins. "Told you."

Quentin hums an idle noise, taking another sip of his drink before he asks, "So, are you the uh, bartender for the Cottage?"

"I'm in charge of all things alcohol at the parties," Eliot says. "But only because no one's as good at it as me." He grins at the approach of a guy with glasses and mousey hair. "Just like no one's as good at providing the icing on the cake as Josh is. Josh, this is Quentin and Julia." He waggles his eyebrows. "They're first years."

Josh gives them both a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you," he says. "Are we partaking tonight, Eliot?"

"Maybe later," Eliot says, glancing at Quentin. "Unless you want to?"

Quentin hesitates, but Julia - thankfully - steps in. “No, thanks,” she says. “We’ve both got medications that are kinda... temperamental. Better not risk it.”

"Noted," Eliot says, while Josh moves on to another group of students. "Is alcohol okay, though?"

It takes Quentin a moment to pull himself out of his head to answer. “Oh, yeah. Just... Not a lot? A couple of drinks is okay.”

Eliot smiles. "We'd better drag this out, then," he says. "Your next one can be virgin."

Quentin’s own smile is still slightly nervous, but more relaxed than it has been since he walked into the Cottage. “Yeah, okay. Long as it still tastes fine, I, uh, don’t really care about the alcohol content.”

Eliot grins. "Well," he says, "drink up, go and mingle. Everyone worth knowing on campus is here. I'll come check on you in a bit."

Quentin eyes the noisy, chaotic crowd uneasily, but nods nonetheless. "Alright," he says, sliding away from Eliot and closer to Julia. "We'll uh, see you later, I guess?"

Eliot actually winks at him. "Can't wait."

They mingle for almost two hours, and it's okay. Eliot never lets Quentin go without a drink, but he keeps his distance when he isn't topping him up, and that's okay, too. But then Quentin loses Julia, and suddenly the party isn't fun anymore. He ends up sequestered in a corner somewhere, trying to make himself as invisible as possible while he gets his shit together enough to either find Julia or leave - so naturally he jumps out of his skin when someone comes out of nowhere and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," a voice says, low and soothing. "You okay?"

Quentin's honestly shocked the glass in his hand hasn't shattered, but he's only slightly less shocked to see Eliot standing beside him. "Uh, parties aren't my... thing," he says, a bit lamely. "Jules wandered off somewhere."

Eliot seems to take this in stride. "All right," he says. "Do you need to leave, or do you want to come hang out by the bar with me?"

"Um." Quentin glances out over the party, but while he doesn't see Julia, he remembers her advice about chilling the fuck out. He takes a deep breath and gives Eliot a small smile. "I can - I can hang out for a little longer."

Eliot grins and holds out his hand. "Excellent. I can ply you with gin and get you to spill all your secrets."

Quentin blinks. "Secrets?" he echoes, even as he takes Eliot's hand and lets him guide them through the crowd. "What - Uh, what... _kinds_ of secrets do you think I have? I'm an open book."

"Maybe I just want to turn some pages," Eliot says. He pulls Quentin around the bar and gestures for him to sit on the stool behind it. "Don't worry, you're not here to help, I just need you to sit there and look pretty. What do you want?"

"Uh, virgin raspberry daiquiri?" Quentin asks, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt; his previous glass is sitting on the counter, and he needs to do _something_ with his hands. 

"Coming right up." Eliot pulls a glass out from beneath the counter, and shoos away a hopeful patron when he tries to approach the bar. "Have you made any new friends yet?" he asks casually.

”Uh, not really? Penny grunted something at me this morning, but I don’t think that counts.”

"Wow," Eliot says. "You're really not a party person, are you?"

”Absolutely not,” Quentin sighs. “I ditched my own graduation party to reread the Fillory series.”

Eliot snorts. "The what?"

"The Fillory series," Quentin says, his expression brightening. "One of the best book series in the fantasy genre, it's about a group of siblings that go to what's basically Narnia but more intense."

"Right," Eliot says slowly. "It sounds kind of... fringe."

"It is, a little," Quentin admits. "But it's still really good, and it actually, y'know, covers a lot of really difficult themes in a no-nonsense, but uh... sympathetic, maybe, kind of way? Like, 'yeah this shit sucks but it happens and it's okay to be upset when it happens, just don't go murdering a bunch of people because of it.' Like the original 'cool motive, still murder,' meme, I guess? Julia actually got me into the series when we were in high school."

Eliot blinks. "Huh," he says. He smiles. "You should talk about things you care about more often."

Quentin flushes, his gaze dropping to his knees. "No, I shouldn't," he mumbles. "I tend to ramble, and then people get bored."

"Incorrect," Eliot says, swiftly and with surety. "You light up the fucking room."

Quentin's gaze snaps up to Eliot's face, eyes wide, searching - and then his flush deepens, and he fidgets on the stool, looking to the side. "That's - " He clears his throat, tries again. "That's a ridiculous claim, even for a magician," he says, but it's weak, like he's more saying it to say _something_ because he doesn't know what else to say. 

"I am inherently ridiculous," Eliot agrees, "but I am also honest to a fault, so make of that what you will."

Quentin looks up, eyes even wider than before, and abruptly slides off of the stool; to his credit, he doesn't wobble as he stands. "Uh. Thanks, for the - the drinks, and the compliments," he says, almost stammers, "but I'm really - I'm sorry, I'm... I gotta go, this is all... It's great, but - " He stops, takes a deep breath, and gives Eliot an uncertain smile. "Thanks. If, uh. If you see Julia, let her know where I went? But I'm going back to my dorm, I'm - I've had enough. Social interaction, that is. For today." Without waiting for a response from Eliot, Quentin sidles around the edge of the bar, and all but bolts for the door.

He doesn't look back to see Eliot's thoughtful expression as he watches him leave.

* * *

Eliot finds Margo the next morning in the living room, a cup of coffee in her hand and a muffin on a plate in front of her. Margo looks up when he drops onto the couch beside her, and it only takes a moment for her to speak. "I know that look," she says. "You've decided on your first victim this year."

Eliot affects an affronted look. "I resent your use of the word 'victim'," he says, "but yes, you are correct."

"Those poor boys never know what hit them," Margo laughs. "Alright, lay it on me: is it Quentin?"

Eliot smiles. "Am I that obvious?"

”Only because I know you,” Margo assures him. 

Eliot concedes the point with a nod. "Well, yes, it's Quentin. Of course it's Quentin. But I might need your help."

Now Margo looks intrigued. “How so?”

"He's almost certainly going to prove more difficult to seduce than my previous conquests," Eliot says. "He's very skittish, bless his heart, and he definitely has horrendous trust issues. He's just so _shy_."

"You think he's _adorable,_ " Margo says gleefully. "Did you flirt with him last night?"

"As much as he would let me," Eliot says. "I think I scared him off."

Margo raises an eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"I... may or may not have told him that his stupid nerdy face lit up the room when he was talking about his stupid nerdy passions."

Margo stares at Eliot for a moment before breaking into peals of laughter. " _Please,_ " she gasps between breaths, "tell me that isn't verbatim."

Eliot presses his lips together. "It might be."

"Well, no fucking wonder you scared him off," Margo laughs. "If he's that skittish, I bet he's never been seriously complimented before. And, well. I love you, El, but you can come off a bit strongly when you're trying to get someone in your bed. Or ours."

"Just mine, in this case," Eliot says. "I'm not sure he could handle that, and I'm not sure I could handle sharing."

That last part catches Margo's attention. "You _don't_ want to share your high-strung, shy supernerd?"

"Absolutely not," Eliot says. He hesitates. "Is that weird?"

Margo hums thoughtfully. "No," she decides. "I'd want to keep someone like him to myself, too. So, what do you need _my_ help with?"

Eliot sighs. "I don't know how to seduce someone as anxious as he is," he whines.

Margo makes a sympathetic noise - though her expression betrays her amusement - and reaches out to pull Eliot closer, until his head is resting on her shoulder. "Tell Momma all about it," she soothes. "You need to get your frustrations out before we can start planning."

"I've just never met anyone more awkward," Eliot says. "I have to tone myself down so much I'm practically dead just to keep him from running off. How do I flirt with someone who is uncomfortable being flirted with?"

Margo considers that for a moment, her fingers carding through Eliot's hair as she thinks. "Why not make him more comfortable with you first?" she suggests. 

"Speak more," Eliot says.

"You saw how much he let Wicker touch him without tensing," Margo points out. "They're like us. So, if you want Quentin to let you flirt with him, maybe you should try being his friend first. Besides, I heard him and Wicker talking about _Fillory and Further_ last night with one of the third years, and I want them in with us. I need more people to be secretly nerdy with, and I think they're trustworthy."

Eliot pulls a face. "Why have I never heard you mention these books?"

"Because you aren't my secret nerd friend," Margo says easily. "Don't make that face, you know you don't talk drinks or music with me."

Eliot considers this, and nods. "Fair," he says. "But if I can't talk to you about nerdy shit, how the hell am I supposed to talk to Quentin?"

"He's _new,_ El," Margo reminds him. "He's so... wide-eyed and in awe of everything that Brakebills is. I would bet good money that he's wanted magic to be real for all of his life. Show him what it can be, tell him what he has to look forward to."

Eliot smiles. "Margo," he says, "that just might work."

* * *

"I need your help," Quentin announces as soon as he walks through Julia's door. "It's Eliot, he's driving me _insane_ and I need you to tell me if I actually am." He pauses, catches sight of Kady sitting on her bed, and flushes. "Oh, uh. Hi? Sorry, I didn't see you there."

Kady raises an eyebrow. "And you won't anymore; I'm going to find Penny," she says, flipping her book closed and sliding off of the bed. "Good luck with your sexuality crisis."

"It's _not_ \- And she's gone," Quentin mutters. He heaves a sigh, runs his hands through his hair and turns to Julia, expression pleading. "It is _a_ crisis, though."

Julia pats the bed beside her. "Sit down and tell me all about it," she says. "What's Tall, Dark and Handsome doing now?"

Quentin lets himself drop onto the bed, leaning against Julia's shoulder. "He's being _nice_ to me," he whines. "He's showing me all this cool stuff about magic, and I love it, but he's not _flirting_ at all and it’s throwing me off!"

Julia just laughs at him. "Why?" she asks. "I thought you didn't want him to flirt with you."

"It's a complete one-eighty!" Quentin protests. "He didn't just dial it back, he just - he just _quit,_ but he didn't quit talking to me, and he's _actually_ talking to me, Jules."

"Still failing to see how this is a bad thing," Julia laughs.

"Because I _don't understand it!_ " Quentin cries. "Why is he being so _nice?_ I ran away when he seriously flirted with me!"

"Maybe he wants to be your friend?" Julia suggests, like she thinks Quentin is being particularly slow.

Quentin blinks. "What? Why would _he_ want to be my friend?"

"Because you're awesome?"

Quentin outright scoffs at that. "I'm an anxious nerd on the spectrum who’s supposed to be taking half a dozen pills to be even halfway socially functional," he reminds her. "That's not - That's not what people like Eliot find quote-unquote _awesome._ "

Julia narrows her eyes. "Quentin Makepeace Coldwater, are you off your meds?"

Quentin freezes, looking at Julia from the corner of his eye. “Maybe?” he says weakly. “It wasn’t my idea! Dean Fogg said that I shouldn’t take them, it would affect my casting ability because there was never anything wrong with me, I was just - a magician living in a mundane world, and what was I _supposed_ to do, he was just sitting there looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to hand over my pills!”

"So you _gave_ them to him?" Julia demands. "That is completely out of order, he has a duty of care. I'm going straight to his office tomorrow and telling him to hand them over."

Quentin's face scrunches up. "I know you can be... really damn impressive when you're angry but do you really think Fogg will give them back to you?"

Julia hesitates. "Maybe not," she admits, "but he'd give them to you. He has no right to decide whether you should take them or not; he's not a fucking doctor."

Quentin sighs. "I'll talk to him," he promises. "I swear."

"Good," Julia says. "Go first thing. Maybe once you start taking them again, you'll feel better about Eliot."

Quentin groans, letting himself fall dramatically backwards, throwing an arm over his face. " _Nothing_ will make me feel better about that, because it doesn't make sense!"

Julia rolls her eyes. "You're not giving him enough credit," she says. "I know him and Margo seem to be the closest this school has to an It Crowd, but they're people, too. He's not automatically an asshole just because he's extra as shit, and he's definitely not better than you in any way."

"People in the It Crowd never want to just be friends with people like me," Quentin points out without moving his arm. "There's always a string attached."

"In school, maybe," Julia allows, "but we're in _grad school_ , now. Does Eliot give you the vibe that he's a bad person?"

"... No."

"Exactly," Julia says. "Just give him a chance. If it comes back to bite you, I'll make him regret it."

Quentin finally moves his arm, giving Julia a smile. "Promise?"

Julia smiles back. "Promise."

* * *

Less than a week later they're thrown into yet more tests, this time with the purpose of determining their magical discipline. Quentin doesn't see Julia or any of the other first years come out of their own tests, but his seems to go on forever, the professors going so far as to resort to throwing things at him in an attempt to get a response. Nothing comes. Quentin feels panicked when they finally give up. He's heard about students failing out before, being forcibly removed from the school and having their memories wiped so that they forget all about magic forever. But that doesn't happen to him.

He gets classed as 'undetermined' and advised to try again next year. In the meantime, he has to live somewhere, and apparently the Physical Cottage has extra room. He meets Alice Quinn outside the doors, and together they figure out how to get inside, although Alice does most of the magical work. When they finally make it through the door, Margo snaps that it took them long enough - but Eliot at least seems delighted to see him, and waves him over to the bar. Quentin smiles at Alice and goes to him.

"I knew you'd make it," Eliot says, already pressing a cocktail into his hand. "How does it feel to be a Physical kid?"

Quentin takes the drink gratefully, taking a sip before he answers, "I don't know, I'm, uh, undetermined. Definitely magical, but they - the testers, examiners, whatever - couldn't figure out what, exactly, my discipline is."

Eliot seems genuinely surprised by this. "Oh," he says. "Well, at least you're here and not in the psychics' dorm. Drink up."

Quentin makes a face, but obliges. “That’s where Penny ended up,” he confides. “Jules is a Knowledge student, though, apparently. Which isn’t really a surprise, she’s always loved to learn and really gets focused on a subject whenever it catches her attention, more than me sometimes. But, yeah, so she’s above the library, on the other end of campus.” 

"You'll probably join her, when you're tested again next year," Eliot says. He smiles. "Then you can live with all the other nerds."

Quentin snorts. “If I didn’t get put there this year, I doubt I will next year,” he says; he even gives Eliot a half-smile before looking back down at the glass in his hand and fiddling with it some more. “I, uh. I don’t like learning the way that Jules does. It’s alright? But. It can be difficult, sometimes. Especially if there’s a lot of social interaction involved.”

Eliot just shrugs. "That doesn't mean you're not a Knowledge student," he says. "It's more about the type of magic you have an affinity for, not the way you learn about it or even the way you cast. But you'll find out next year. You don't need to worry about it now."

”Yeah, sure,” Quentin sighs. “I’m, uh. Gonna go wander around a little bit?” He eyes the people crowded around the bar uncomfortably, giving Eliot a tight smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Eliot gives him a smile and a wave, and Quentin ventures out into the throng of people crowding the first floor of the Cottage. The press of people against him is nearly overwhelming, but Quentin pushes through it, says hi to a few students he recognizes, and slowly works his way towards the haven of the library. It's still crowded, but not nearly so bad as the living room and kitchen, and he even finds Alice in there, and they have a brief, pleasant conversation - until Margo finds them. She chats with both Quentin and Alice before dragging Alice away and encouraging Quentin to mingle more, and with a full glass of the Blue Thing in him, Quentin decides to take her advice. 

It's impossible to have any sort of meaningful conversation in the extremely noisy party, but Quentin manages to find a few other first years who are nearly as lost as he is, and passes some time comparing impressions of Brakebills and their classes. Eventually, however, those first years fade back into the crowd, and Quentin starts slowly making his way around the outer edge to the stairs - only to pause at the bottom of them. He... doesn't know where his room is. 

Quentin's so caught up in wondering how the hell he's supposed to figure that out - is it another test from the older students? - that he doesn't realize he has company until Eliot's hand lands on his shoulder. Quentin nearly leaps onto the bannister like a startled cat, whirling around with his hand to his chest. "Jesus _Christ,_ don't do that," he blurts. "That's - Holy fuck, I think I just lost five years, what the _fuck._ "

Eliot just laughs. "Sorry," he says, "I just thought I'd check in. You doing okay?"

"I was, uh, just trying to figure out where my - my room is," Quentin confesses, figuring he might as well find out if that's something else he's being tested on today. "I didn't... Nobody told me anything about what the upstairs is like, so I don't know like, what rooms are occupied? Or. Or anything, really. Is this another test?"

"No," Eliot says. He slides an arm around Quentin's shoulders and turns towards the stairs. "We've all just been a little... preoccupied, I guess. But I know where your room is."

Quentin's so preoccupied with the struggle between tensing up under Eliot's arm and pressing in closer to one of the only familiar people in the building that he nearly trips over three stairs in a row. "You - You do?"

Eliot pauses long enough to steady Quentin before they carry on. "It's just down the hall from mine, which is across the hall from Margo's, of course. It's a good size, actually, I think you'll like it."

"Oh," Quentin says, making himself pay attention to where he's putting his feet - which, coincidentally, moves his focus from Eliot's arm around his shoulders. "Uh, that's good? I mean, I don't need a lot of space, really, I'm happy with any size room, I just - Do I have a roommate?"

"No," Eliot tells him. "There's plenty of room here, and your space is your own." He shoots Quentin a sidelong glance. "Unless you choose to share it with someone else, of course."

"If I - " Quentin frowns, then his eyes widen; luckily they’ve reached the top of the stairs, because he actually twists to stare at Eliot, open-mouthed, for a moment before flushing a brilliant scarlet. " _Oh._ Um. Yeah, no, that's - probably not going to happen? Anytime soon, if ever, I'm really not... that kind of person. Not that there's anything bad with _being_ that kind of person, I'm just. Not." He ducks his head, gaze focusing on his feet once more as he mumbles, "I'm gonna shut up now and let you lead the way."

Eliot doesn't comment, just smiles and guides Quentin through the Cottage until they stop outside of a nondescript door. "This is you," he announces. "You'll find that all of your things are already in there. It's all a bit Harry Potter sometimes."

Quentin blinks, then huffs a short laugh. "You didn't, uh, strike me as the kind of person to make a reference like that," he says, lips quirked in a half-smile. "Long as the staircases don't move, I - I think I can deal with things being a bit Harry Potter."

Eliot laughs, low and warm. "This is the Physical Cottage," he says. "You never know." He gestures toward the door. "Are you going to go in?"

Quentin eyes the door in front of him for a moment before he takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah," he says, though he doesn't make a move to get out from under Eliot's arm - it's nice, okay? Quentin's already missing Julia, and he's always been the kind to seek physical reassurance when he's anxious. "You're - You're not inviting yourself in?"

"Of course not," Eliot says. "This is your space. You can invite me in if you want to, but I get the feeling you don't need me to push your boundaries right now."

Quentin smiles, unexpectedly touched. "Yeah, that's - I just need some time to... to decompress, I guess. Thanks for showing me up here."

Eliot smiles back. "Get some sleep. If you're lucky I might make you breakfast tomorrow."

* * *

The following week they're assigned a group project in their Arabic class and told to pair up. Quentin doesn't share this class with Julia, and he hasn't actually spoken to anyone in it yet, so he resigns himself to being picked last or even asked to work by himself - but then a shadow falls over his desk, and he looks up to see Alice Quinn hovering over him.

"Do you want to be my partner?" she asks, looking like it physically pains her to do so.

Quentin blinks. “Uh, sure?” he says, quickly gathering up his papers. “Here, you can, uh, sit. No one sits here, so I tend to just... let my shit spread over the table.”

"I've noticed," Alice says, taking the offered seat. "Are you any good at Arabic?"

”Some,” Quentin says. “Conjugations still get me, sometimes. I mix them up, so I switch from like, past to present to future in any combination. Sometimes in the same sentence.”

Alice gives him a look of deep sympathy, or maybe just resignation. "Well, luckily for you I translated this passage in my undergrad, so all you have to do is practice the tuts and we should be fine."

”You translated this in undergrad?” Quentin asks, interested. “I didn’t know there was an undergrad for magicians. But I don’t have any problems with the tuts; I’m good with my hands.”

Alice raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. "My parents are pretty well-known magicians," she says. "I've been studying this kind of thing since I was a child."

”Lucky,” Quentin sighs. “The only magic I knew before this was card and coin tricks.” He shifts, pulls his textbook closer. “So, you already have this passage translated? Can you help me with that? I don’t want to just, like, rely on you for everything? Like that’s not fair to you, and it also doesn’t do anything for me, I want to do my fair share of the work, too, and I know the professor said this isn’t like, a dangerous spell, but I know my luck and it’s not always the greatest, and I don’t want anything to go wrong and something happen to you because, again, that’s just not fair.”

Alice blinks, surprised. "All right," she says. "Give it a shot, and I'll tell you where you're going wrong."

* * *

They wind up taking the project back to the Cottage to work on it together. They settle in the living area, the passage spread out between them while Quentin works on his translation, and that's where Margo and Eliot find them when they return from their own classes, or whatever they've been doing today.

"Perfect," Eliot says, as he and Margo walk over to them. "Just the people we were looking for. We're hosting the next party on Saturday night - you'll both be there, right?"

Quentin glances at Alice, who is focusing intently on the book in front of her. “Uh, sure? I mean, we live here, so...”

Margo beams. "Great," she says. "Alice, sweetheart, why don't you leave Quentin to his homework and come for a walk with me?"

Alice looks up, frowning. “This is for a _group_ project,” she says, slowly. “Why would I go with you when I have this to work on?”

"It'll still be there for you to correct once Quentin's done with it," Margo points out. "Or you can work on it together later. But if you're coming to this party then you're in serious need of my assistance."

Alice raises an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘assistance’?” she asks, suspicious.

"You've been wearing a variation on the same outfit to every party we've had this year," Margo says. "I have some dresses upstairs that are more my style, but would be perfect for you."

 _That_ gets more of a reaction from Alice; her eyes widen, and she sits back in her seat. “That’s - very generous, but I don’t need any more outfits. These are fine.”

Margo's jaw drops, and she laughs. "Honey," she says, "you haven't _seen_ the dresses I have in mind." She makes grabby hands at Alice. "Come on. If you hate them, I'll donate them to charity, but not before you've tried every single one on."

Alice's eyes go impossibly wider. "Oh, no, I really don't think - "

"It's probably better not to argue," Eliot advises sagely. "What are you working on?"

"We translated this on paper, so it's mostly working on my pronunciation," Quentin says, giving Alice an encouraging smile. "Eliot's right, it's - it's probably better to just go along with Margo; you'll be done sooner, and if you don’t go now, she’ll start playing dirty."

Alice gives him an unimpressed look, but rolls her eyes and huffs, "Fine."

"I'll look after him," Eliot promises while Margo pulls Alice to her feet. "I aced Arabic last year."

For some reason, that gets a laugh from Margo, but Quentin doesn't ask until Margo and Alice have disappeared upstairs. "You aced Arabic?"

"Flying colours," Eliot says. "Of course, I paid for the answers to the exam in nipple clamps."

That startles a laugh from Quentin. " _Nipple clamps?_ "

Eliot smirks. "I have quite the collection."

"That's - " Quentin chokes, coughs, and tries again. "That's, uh. A bit more information than I needed," he says with an awkward laugh. "But, uh. If you paid for the answers in nip - " He has to choke back a laugh " - nipple clamps, I don't think you... were all that confident in your ability to do the work."

"I would have been, if I'd applied myself," Eliot says. "But you're right; I can't help you with this project."

Quentin shakes his head, but he's smiling. "Do you... usually buy exam answers with sex toys?"

Eliot grins. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Quentin makes a face, like morbid curiosity says _yes_ but his sensibilities say _no,_ and changes the subject. "So, you guys seriously have parties every weekend?"

"Pretty much," Eliot tells him. "We think it's important not to get stuck in your own head, here."

Quentin snorts. "Well, I can relate to that," he mutters. "Gods know my head can be an awful place to be."

Eliot gives him a strange look, but he doesn't press. He just says, "Same here," and moves on. "So, let's ditch the Arabic for now and talk parties. I think this one needs a theme."

Quentin blinks. "A theme?" he echoes. "What... _kind_ of theme?"

"Something sexy," Eliot says. He folds himself onto the couch and gestures for Quentin to join him. "Like pirates or Greeks, or..." He waves a hand. "The 1920s." He gives Quentin a sharp look. "You'd look lovely in suspenders and a bow tie."

Quentin nearly trips over the leg of the table in front of the couch, dropping onto the other end of it with even less grace than usual, cheeks hot. "That's - not really my style?" he tries. "Sounds more like yours."

Eliot gives him a thoughtful once-over. "An eye patch and a cutlass, then?" he suggests. His eyes light up. "Or an artfully-draped bedsheet?"

Quentin snorts, smiling despite himself. "You... probably don't want to take away my depth perception, or put me in something I'm likely to trip or snag on," he says, still flushed. "That way lies disaster and the death of... Well, any dignity I may have, which is debatable."

Eliot laughs. "What would you be comfortable in?"

Quentin considers that for a moment. "The pirate thing sounds... kinda cool?" he offers. "Just don't put me in something that takes away my depth perception. Or, uh. Give me something that could actually cut someone. Because that won't end well, I'm telling you right now."

Eliot pats his knee. "We won't let you hurt yourself or others," he promises. "We want you to have a good time."

Quentin smiles, his blush, which had just started to fade, returning full-force when Eliot touches him. “I - I appreciate that,” he says. “What - “ He clears his throat, looks up at Eliot and tries again. “What are you thinking of doing? Like, for your outfit. If Margo goes along with the pirate thing.”

"I'll probably be the most dressed down you've ever seen me," Eliot admits. "Loose white shirt, knee-high boots, maybe leather pants? I might even grow out my beard a little."

Quentin blinks. “I... can’t imagine that,” he confesses.

Eliot smirks. "It'll be hot," he promises.

”Everything looks hot on you,” Quentin says without thinking, and then freezes. “Uh.”

Eliot's whole face lights up. "Oh, it's okay, honey," he says. "I know."

Eliot’s nonchalance makes him relax slightly, and Quentin snorts. “Humble, aren’t you?” he says, almost _teasing._ “Look, I, uh, appreciate the distraction, but I - I really do need to work on my pronunciation, because I don’t want to let Alice down, not after she volunteered to work with me for this and saved me from the embarrassment of being paired up with someone by the professor.”

Eliot gives him a soft smile. "You're very cute," he says. "Luckily for you, while I paid for the exam answers, I actually wasn't bad at Arabic. Show me what you're working on."

* * *

That weekend, it takes Quentin almost three whole minutes to psyche himself up and convince himself to actually knock on Eliot's door. It had taken him nearly ten to talk himself into leaving his room at all. 

There's noise from the party starting downstairs drifting up the staircase, and Quentin tries his best not to twitch when there's a particularly loud burst of laughter and cheering right as he lifts his fist. Before he can give himself time to think about it, he knocks once, twice, and again in rapid succession and then tries to resist the urge to pace. He ends up chewing on his lip instead, fidgeting in place, hand running back and forth and back and forth over the curve of one of the boots Margo had given him, counting the stitches in an attempt to keep himself from freaking out. When Eliot finally opens the door, Quentin doesn't even wait for recognition to cross his face. "I need you," he blurts, shoving the boots forward, the rest of the outfit clutched to his chest with his other hand. "Help. Please. I have no clue how any of this is supposed to go on, and Jules is busy and Margo's already downstairs and it sounds like there's a _lot_ of people down there and I just... I need you. To help me. Please."

"Hey," Eliot says, grasping Quentin's shoulder and guiding him into the room, "all right, you're okay." The door swings shut behind them and locks with a _snap_. Eliot himself is half-ready, shirtless with eyeliner smudged around only one eye, but he doesn't seem to give a shit. "Drop everything on the bed and sit down. Tell me what we're doing."

"I have no idea," Quentin says helplessly. "Margo dropped this off at my room and then went downstairs, and I _thought_ it was fairly simple? But there's laces and straps and hooks and I - I have no idea how to get this on without accidentally strangling myself."

Eliot laughs, but he's not unkind about it. He just comes over to the bed and sifts through the outfit Margo picked out, separating it into piles that make no sense to Quentin. When he's done, he turns back to Quentin and gestures vaguely at him. "All right, strip."

Quentin swears he feels his brain actually grind its nonexistent gears as it stalls. "Uh," he says intelligently, only just realizing that _Eliot_ is shirtless. "What?"

"Clothes," Eliot says, "off."

"Uh," Quentin says again, for lack of anything else to say. He's already barefoot, so at least he doesn't have to worry about that. He pushes himself to his feet and reaches behind his head for the neck of his shirt, somehow managing to yank it off without choking himself. Quentin drops his shirt onto the bed, reaching for his belt next. "Why did you - How did you sort those?" he asks in an attempt to distract himself from the fact that he is _stripping_ in Eliot's room.

Eliot smirks like he knows exactly what Quentin is doing, but obligingly points to each pile in turn. "Top - and bottom."

Quentin is about seventy percent sure that Eliot isn’t trying to make a double entendre with that, but the remaining thirty percent is enough to have him blushing a brilliant red - which Eliot can see goes all the way down his chest. “Right,” Quentin says, a bit weakly as he unbuckles his belt and undoes his fly, wriggling his pants over his hips. “Okay, so. Do I just - _whoa!_ ” He really shouldn’t have tried to talk and take his pants off at the same time, not when he’s already distracted; Quentin wobbles, pants caught around his ankle on one leg, foot caught in the bunched up fabric of the other.

Eliot catches him though, with a steadying hand on each arm, and he gives him a thoroughly endeared smile when Quentin manages to look up. "Be careful," he says. "It's way too early in the evening for you to be falling at my feet; you haven't even seen my full outfit yet."

Quentin immediately blushes a brilliant scarlet and looks down, focusing on getting his feet _safely_ out of his pants before he says anything else. "Sorry," he says when he's finally steady on his feet, glancing up at Eliot through his hair. "I should... probably know better than to try to multitask when I'm, um, really close to freaking out."

"Let's see what we can do to curb that," Eliot suggests. He takes a step back and picks up the deep blue shirt from the 'top' pile. "Put this on first."

Taking a deep breath - an attempt to calm himself and also just plain necessary after having a _shirtless_ Eliot so close and _touching_ him - Quentin reaches out and takes the shirt, sliding it over his head, poking his arms through the sleeves. "Okay. Next?"

Eliot is already holding out the next item. "Pants. Be careful, though."

"Oh, fuck you," Quentin mutters, ears hot as he - carefully - slides the pants on. 

Eliot watches on with a strange glint in his eye, and actually winks once Quentin's settled the pants around his hips. "Gorgeous," he says. "You wanna unlace the shirt so that it opens a little lower, and then you need jewelery."

Quentin's fingers still on the lacing. "Wait, what? _Jewelry?_ "

Eliot holds up a tangled collection of necklaces and some... leather cuffs? "Did I fucking stutter?"

Quentin's eyes widen. "Um. No?" He eyes the jewelry like Eliot has a handful of venomous snakes. 

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Come here, turn around."

Still dubious, Quentin does as told. He also does his best not to shiver when Eliot comes up behind him, ends up holding his breath for a moment when Eliot presses closer. "What - " He clears his throat, tries for something less breathy. "What all do you have? Or what does Margo have, I guess she... picked this out." 

"A few chains," Eliot says, his voice deep and rich as he drapes a necklace around Quentin's throat. "A leather thong. A choker, if you're feeling adventurous."

Quentin nearly swallows his tongue. "Uh, better - better not risk it," he manages. "I like breathing." Even if he isn't doing much of it right now. 

Eliot laughs at that, right into Quentin's ear. "All right," he says, "just the thong, then." He finishes fastening the necklaces and turns Quentin around to give him an assessing look. "All right. Cuffs, jacket, sleeves rolled up. Boots. And then we'll do hair and make up."

Quentin looks like he's seriously considering running back to his room, but he nods nonetheless. "Okay," he says, swallowing heavily. "I guess... I guess I'm at your mercy?"

Eliot grins. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Quentin tells himself that his shiver is from a draft. 

Despite the party already in full swing downstairs, Eliot takes his time with Quentin, styling his hair into sexy-messy beach waves and then carefully making his face up until he looks chiseled and roguish, and not at all like himself. Once he's satisfied Eliot banishes Quentin to the bed so that he can get ready himself. He finally puts a shirt on, but Quentin forces himself to zone out when he decides to change his pants. He tunes back in just as Eliot is finishing up his eyeliner; he gives his curls a final once-over and then turns away from the mirror to raise an eyebrow at Quentin. "What do you think?"

Quentin just sits there, mouth slightly ajar, blinking as he takes in Eliot's look. It's a different look from Quentin's, clearly tailored to Eliot's tastes. A loose white shirt sits beneath a light blue vest, all of the lacing about the collar undone, showing off Eliot's collarbones. A striped sash in aged honey yellow and greys wraps around his waist, tied snug and with the loose ends draped over one hip. His pants are made of what looks like soft leather, his boots a match to Quentin's. Eliot is also wearing jewelry and makeup; his eyeliner is artfully done, adding a mesmerizing depth to his eyes, and his hair is tousled like he's been standing on the deck of a ship for hours - or like he just spent days in bed having a _lot_ of fun. His jewelry consists of the choker that Quentin had turned down, snug against his throat with thin golden chains crossing his chest. 

When Eliot's smile turns into a smirk, Quentin realizes he's just been staring at Eliot and flushes, clearing his throat. "You look - really good. Classy."

"Classy," Eliot repeats, clearly amused. "Thanks, Q. You look sexy as hell."

Quentin's starting to seriously worry about his face; it can't be healthy, blushing this much in such a short amount of time. "Uh. Thanks? I'm... sure that's mostly your work, though. This whole - outfit never would have looked nearly as good without your help."

"Maybe not," Eliot allows, "but that's why you came to me in the first place." His expression softens into something a little more sincere. "Do you feel ready to go down there, or do you need a minute?"

Quentin hesitates, considering, but he knows if he doesn't go down there now, he's going to talk himself out of it - and waste all of Eliot's time helping him into this costume. "No, I'm - I'm good. Let's go."

"Perfect." Eliot loops his arm through Quentin's and doesn't quite drag him from the room, but it's a near thing. They make it halfway down the stairs before anyone notices, but then Josh points at them and shouts something and the whole crowd cheers.

Quentin very nearly freezes; it's only Eliot's arm around his that keeps him moving - and keeps him from tripping on the stairs and falling down the rest. "Wh-What's going on?" he whispers, leaning in towards Eliot without taking his eyes off of the gathered crowd that seems _very_ interested in the two of them. 

"Relax," Eliot soothes him. "We look good together, that's all. Keep walking."

"Easy for you to say," Quentin mutters, gaze shifting to his feet as they come down the last few stairs. "They're all _staring._ "

"No, they're not," Eliot murmurs. It's true. Josh is now waving a bag of what appears to be magical ecstasy - or maybe just normal ecstasy - and everyone who doesn't want the drugs has gone back to drinking and laughing and dancing. They reach the bottom of the stairs with minimal fanfare and Eliot slips his hand into Quentin's, giving it a light squeeze. "I need to go take over the bar," he says. "Do you want me to find Julia first?"

Quentin's hand tightens around Eliot's. "Yes, please," he says gratefully. 

Luckily, they don't have to go far. They skirt around the edges of the crowd, keeping their eyes peeled - but Julia finds them before they spot her. She looks absolutely gorgeous in her Elizabeth Swann costume, and Eliot tells her so as he presses Quentin's hand into hers. She doesn't blush with compliments like Quentin does, but she does look pleased.

"I tried to text you," she tells Quentin. "Are you okay?"

"That's my fault," Eliot offers. "I had him locked in my room while I worked my magic."

Julia raises her eyebrows. "Really."

"I needed his help with getting ready and forgot my phone," Quentin admits sheepishly. 

"But you're reunited now," Eliot says with a warm smile. "I can trust you to make sure he has a good time, right? Daddy needs to start making cocktails before Todd destroys my bar."

Julia laughs and leans into Quentin's side. "I've got plenty of experience in this department," she promises.

"Good." Eliot gets his arms around both of them and kisses first Julia and then Quentin on the forehead. "I'll catch up with you later, okay? Come see me when you want a drink." And then he's gone.

Quentin watches him go before turning to Julia, smiling. "You look amazing," he tells her. "Did Kady help you with your hair?"

"She did," Julia says, looking all kinds of smug. "Wait 'til you see her and Penny, too, we kind of did a trio thing? But look at you! You look _hot_ , Q!"

Quentin flushes _again._ "That's all Eliot's handiwork," he mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party. "And Margo's. She, um, picked out the outfit."

"Well, you're working it," Julia assures him. "You could get it, honestly." She giggles. "I might already be a little drunk."

"I think you are," Quentin laughs, shifting so he can wrap an arm around Julia's waist when someone bumps into them. "How many drinks have you had?"

"We had pre-drinks in our dorm with Penny, and then Todd was giving out glasses of the Blue Thing when we got here, but it was more green than blue and it was really strong?" Julia laughs again, light and girlish. "I don't think he made it right. We should probably not tell Eliot."

"Probably not," Quentin agrees solemnly. "He might just kill Todd, or maybe turn him into a goat or something."

Julia nods in agreement and shuffles closer to him to allow some other students to pass by. "Are you ready for a drink?" she asks.

"As long as it's not something Todd made," Quentin says, chuckling. "I think I see - Yep, there's that scowl. Penny and Kaddy are heading this way."

Julia follows his gaze, gives them a wave, and then turns back to Quentin with an apologetic look. "I've told Penny to be nice," she says. "If you wanna get away from them, though, just say."

"I'll say something," Quentin promises right as Kady and Penny get to them. He looks up with a smile and a nod, and gets a half-smile from Kady - in a killer Pirate King Elizabeth Swann outfit - and a nod from Penny, who's dressed as Will Turner. It's the most civil interaction Quentin's had with Penny to date, but he's not counting on it lasting. "Hey."

"Hey," Kady says, amused. "Nice outfit; saw your entrance with Eliot."

Quentin ducks his head. "Yeah, I - I think Josh made sure _everyone_ saw that."

"I thought you were going to fall down the stairs," Penny offers.

Julia shoots him a sharp look.

Quentin snorts despite himself. "I would have if I hadn't been hanging onto Eliot," he says. "We were just going to get some drinks, do you guys... want us to grab you something?"

"I'm good," Penny says. "I need to be able to keep my wards up when all of your dumb asses get too wasted to keep your own up."

Kady just hands over her glass when Quentin looks at her questioningly. "Another Blue Thing - an actual Blue Thing, this time, not a Green Thing."

Quentin takes the glass with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, we aren't mentioning that to Eliot; I'm not going to be the reason that Todd gets cursed."

* * *

An hour or so later, the party is well and truly underway. Everyone is beyond drunk, some people are high and most people are dancing. Margo doesn't seem to have stopped dancing since Quentin came downstairs, and now Josh, Kady and even Penny have joined her. Quentin is still lingering at the edge of the crowd, Julia close by his side, but he has a feeling she won't be for long. Kady just rejoined Penny on the dance floor after coming over to persuade Julia to join them, using tactics that included but were not limited to sticking her tongue down Julia's throat.

"Are you sure?" Julia asks once Quentin tells her to just go. "Just for one song, I swear."

" _Go,_ " Quentin laughs. "I'll be fine, Jules, I promise."

"I love you!" Julia gives him a kiss on the cheek and disappears into the crowd, but Quentin isn't on his own for long.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder, and turns to see Eliot smiling down at him. "Everything all right?"

"Aside from you nearly scaring me to death _again_?" Quentin asks, blowing out a harsh breath. "Fine. Jules went to dance with Kady and Penny."

"I can see that," Eliot laughs. "Shall we join them?"

Quentin's eyes widen almost comically. "Uh, you - you can," he says, going so far as to take a step back, away from the mass of bodies in the middle of the room. "I - don't. Dance. It's just, it's embarrassing all around."

"No one's watching you," Eliot promises. "It's just you and me."

Quentin snorts, though he can't help but smile. "But they'll be watching _you,_ " he counters. 

But Eliot shakes his head. "Everyone's too wasted to know their ass from their elbow right now. No one will even notice."

Quentin hesitates, biting his lip. "Are... you sure?"

Eliot's expression softens and he leans in closer. "I'll work a spell, if you want, to divert their attention."

Quentin doesn't answer for another moment, but then he nods. "Yeah, okay," he says. 

Eliot's whole face lights up. The spell he works seems quite simple for what it's meant to pull off, but after a few moments the air around them seems to shimmer, and then Quentin's hand is in Eliot's and he's being tugged out onto the dance floor.

Quentin tenses automatically until he realizes that Eliot's spell works; true to his word, no one is looking at them. Anyone who looks in their direction just... keeps looking, never focusing on Eliot or Quentin, and that allows Quentin to relax enough to settle into the pulsing rhythm of the music and the bodies around them. "Don't judge me, okay?" he asks Eliot, leaning in and speaking just loud enough to be heard. "I - I _never_ dance."

"No judgement," Eliot promises. He's already moving, still holding onto Quentin's hands, and the smile on his face as he sways his hips to the music is infectious. "We're just having fun, Q."

"Just fun," Quentin repeats to himself, glancing down at his feet for a moment before he looks back up, letting himself move in a clumsy attempt at mimicking Eliot. He's still slightly tense, keeps looking at his feet, worried that he's going to step on Eliot, and it's not until the start of the third song that he finally feels like a _human_ dancing and not like a marionette.

It must show on his face, because Eliot laughs and presses closer, getting his hands on Quentin's hips. "Enjoying yourself now?" he asks, grinning.

Quentin freezes - but only for a moment. "Yeah," he admits, blaming the slightly breathless quality of his voice on the dancing, not on Eliot's new proximity. "This is... a _lot_ better than homecoming was."

Eliot laughs again. "I'm going to need that story," he says, "but forget about it tonight. Tonight's for us."

Quentin laughs. "It's not a good story," he assures Eliot, stepping in closer when someone bumps into his back. "Trust me."

Eliot uses the excuse of steadying Quentin to pull him even closer, and smiles down at him when he looks up. "I want to hear all your stories," he admits, just on the wrong side of too honest. "I'm very invested in you."

Quentin blushes far too hard to be excusable as a result of the crowded dance floor. "I, um. You say that to all the first years?" he jokes, but it's weak and tastes like a lie. 

"No," Eliot says, because fuck it.

"Oh," Quentin breathes. He bites his lip, but can't hide the pleased smile on his face. 

* * *

Alice is the only one in the kitchen when Quentin makes his way downstairs the next morning. He didn't drink as much as the others, but he was up just as late, and he's feeling a little rough around the edges. Alice, on the other hand, looks perfectly put together as always. She even smiles at him as he makes his way over to the coffee.

"I'm guessing you went to the party last night," she says, pleasantly enough. "Did you dress up?"

"Margo made me and Eliot helped," Quentin mumbles, pouring himself a cup and fishing through the fridge for the creamer. "Think Jules took some pics."

Alice nods. "Did you have fun?" she asks.

"Yeah," Quentin says after he takes a sip of his coffee, both to test the taste and to give himself a moment to pull himself from the memories of Eliot pressed so closely against him. "It was... a lot, but it was fun. You?"

Alice shrugs. "I wasn't here," she says. "But I probably wouldn't have gone anyway."

"Not your kind of scene?" Quentin guesses. 

"Not really," Alice says. "I've been to my fair share of parties, I just... have other things to worry about right now."

Quentin nods, sliding into the chair across from Alice at the table. "Things like what?" he asks encouragingly.

Alice smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. "I have a project," she says. "It's not related to schoolwork, but it's something I need the school's resources for."

Quentin just nods, however. "That makes sense. I... probably can't help with like, research or anything, but I can be your rubber duck, if you need someone around while you talk through any problems? Like, y'know, programmers keep a rubber duck by their desk and when there's a problem in the code, they explain it to the duck and talk through the problem. Lot of them say it helps. I've been told I'm a good listener."

Something in Alice's gaze softens at that, and her smile seems more genuine. "Thanks," she says. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Alice doesn't come to Quentin about her project, but she does agree to study with him for an upcoming Magical History test. They're sitting together in the living room at the Cottage when Eliot finds them, and really, if they're expecting to be uninterrupted maybe they'd be better camping out at the Library instead.

"Q," Eliot says. He sounds slightly out of breath, and when Quentin looks up his eyes are wide and serious. "I need you."

Beside him, Alice nudges him ever so gently and turns her head to hide a smile.

Quentin shoots Alice a sharp look before he turns back to Eliot. "You look... What's wrong?"

"We have a problem," is all Eliot says. "Can you come with me?"

"Um. Sure," Quentin says, carefully closing his notebook before getting to his feet. "I'll, uh, be back as soon as I can, Alice."

Eliot takes him to the Cottage library, and closes the door behind them. "We've been robbed," he says. "Big problem. Two books have been taken."

"Oh. Um, that _does_ sound like a problem," Quentin says, blinking. "Do you have... any idea who might've taken those books?"

"Not a clue," Eliot says. "But if the faculty finds out about this, we're fucked."

Quentin's eyes widen. "Should probably find them, then. Is there like, I don't know, a... tracking spell or something we can use, maybe?"

"Of course there is," Eliot says, "but it's cooperative. Which is where you come in."

" _Me?_ " Quentin asks - desperately tries not to _squeak_.

"Yes," Eliot says. "Please, Q."

And, well. Quentin never could say 'no' when someone asked for his help. When that someone is _Eliot_... He swallows hard before nodding. "Alright. What - What do we have to do?"

Eliot draws near, talking him through the tuts and going over the phrases a few times, checking his form and pronunciation. When Quentin's got it, he steps back and raises his own hands. "Ready?"

Quentin takes in a deep breath, mimicks Eliot's hands with his own. "Ready."

It's surprisingly easy to cast together, and before long there's a small ball of golden light pulsing gently between them. "Now we just have to follow it," Eliot says, looking anxious.

"Well, let's go," Quentin says, reaching out with his free hand for Eliot's, his other keeping the orb tethered. He doesn't look directly at Eliot as he takes his hand, instead following the tug of the orb. It leads them out of the library, unsurprisingly - but then it _does_ surprise them, and lead them to the stairs. Quentin and Eliot exchange confused looks before mounting the stairs, the orb tugging more and more insistently the further they climb. When they reach the top, the orb makes a sharp right, towards Quentin's room - but then it comes to a dead stop two doors down. 

Eliot growls, his hand spasming in Quentin's. "That's Todd's room."

Quentin frowns, trying to place the sound of… rhythmic thumping? "What would _Todd_ want with those books? Why wouldn't he just... check them out?"

"I believe that he's stupid enough to forget," Eliot says snidely, "but he's also meticulous about the rules." He grinds his teeth. "I guess we're about to find out."

Quentin sets his jaw and nods, shifting away so that Eliot can unlock the door; he has no idea what they’ll see, the thumping sound increasing until it’s a noisy rattle that’s undeniably coming from the other side of Todd’s bedroom door. "I'm right behind you."

Eliot curls the fingers of his right hand one over another in quick succession, and then twists his wrist sharply. The lock clicks open, and Eliot reaches for the handle. They enter the room cautiously, prepared for anything - except, apparently, the sight that greets them.

"Oh," Eliot says. "Well."

"Um." Quentin feels like he's missed a step somewhere. "Are those books - Are they _fucking?_ "

"Yes," Eliot says. He clears his throat. "Apparently they needed some privacy. Uhh. We're sorry for interrupting?"

"They actually look _offended,_ " Quentin mutters, awed. "Um. Yeah, what... he said? Sorry for interrupting. Just, uh. We were just worried? Because no one knew where you two had... gone."

"Just come back down whenever you're ready," Eliot says, shepherding Quentin out of the room. "Take your time." He shuts the door after them and locks it again for good measure - and then hesitates. "How did they lock it in the first place?"

"I... have no idea," Quentin admits. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that they were _fucking._ What the hell."

"It's not something I've seen before," Eliot admits. "But I guess we've both learned something today. Next time I think we've been robbed, I'll knock."

Quentin shakes his head, but he can't help it - he snorts. He claps a hand over his mouth, mortified, but it's like a dam breaking. Before he knows it, he's all but collapsed against the wall, wracked with laughter. " _Fucking_ books," he wheezes. "I knew this was a magic college, but - _sentient books?_ "

Eliot's laughing, too, his hands covering his face while his shoulders shake. "Anything's possible," he gasps, wiping at his eyes. "This place will never stop surprising you, that I can guarantee."

Quentin actually _giggles_ at that, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed about it when Eliot's just as bad. "Good," he says, smiling when he catches Eliot's eye. "I need some excitement in my life."

Eliot smiles back. "I've noticed," he teases. "It's something I'm happy to provide."

Heat suffuses Quentin's cheeks, and his gaze drops, though he's still smiling. "Well. I'm - I'm glad. I like hanging out with you, even - " He has to break off into snickers again " - even when you're showing me _fucking books._ "

Eliot snorts ungraciously and covers his mouth with his hand. "That one wasn't my fault," he says. "I really did think they'd been stolen."

Quentin shakes his head, chuckling. "Well, if you need help finding any more 'stolen' books," he says, complete with air quotes, "let me know. This was... fun. And a nice break from studying."

Eliot's eyes crinkle around the edges if he smiles wide enough. Quentin likes that. "I should let you get back to it," Eliot says. "Alice will be wondering where you are."

"I'm sure she'll have some ideas," Quentin says dryly. "I'll see you later, El." He gives Eliot a smile before pushing off of the wall he'd been leaning on and heading back downstairs. He doesn't even realize what he'd called Eliot until later that night.

* * *

For the next few weeks Quentin bounces between schoolwork and time spent with his friends, a term he finally feels comfortable using in reference to both Eliot and Margo as well as Julia. Alice is starting to drift towards them, too, though she still seems somewhat distrustful of them. She spends the most time with Quentin, and it's nice. He likes her. And she's good to study with.

She's late to a study session right now, which isn't like her at all. They've taken to meeting in the campus Library instead of at the Cottage, mostly in order to avoid interruption - read: Eliot - and they were due to meet up over twenty minutes ago. Quentin is giving her until the half hour mark before he packs up, and he's glad of that when she rounds the stacks and approaches his table with about a minute to spare. "Sorry I'm late," she says. "I thought I had a breakthrough with my project, you know, the one I told you about? But I'm not so sure it's a breakthrough after all."

"What did you find?" Quentin asks, interested, as Alice sits down. She's never said anything specific about her project, but that's only served to make Quentin more curious than ever before each time it gets brought up. 

"I found a spell," Alice tells him. "It lets you speak to someone's spirit."

"Someone's _spirit?_ " Quentin asks, mindful of the fact that they're in a library. "You're trying to reach someone who's _dead?_ "

"Yeah." Alice takes a breath. "It's my brother. He died three years ago, here at Brakebills."

Quentin sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh," he says, giving Alice a sympathetic look; he doesn't bother with 'I'm sorry,' because it won't help. "Do you... know how?"

"No," Alice admits. There's a frustrated twist to her mouth. "That's why I want to summon him. No one will tell me how or why he died."

Quentin nods in understanding. "What do you need for the spell?"

"A lot," Alice says. "Most of it I won't be able to get my hands on for a few days. But once I'm ready, I was wondering if... if you'd help me."

Quentin's eyes widen. "Me?"

Alice nods. "You're the only person I've told," she says. "I can't do the spell alone, and we've been studying together all semester. I know you're good enough."

Quentin blinks, smiles. "Oh. Well, thanks. That's - high praise, coming from you. What do we need to do?"

This gives Alice pause. "It's... sort of like a seance," she admits.

Quenton frowns thoughtfully. "The movies always show more than two people doing them," he says slowly. 

"I know," Alice says. "But we should be able to do it with just the two of us. I tried to rework the spell so I could do it alone, but I couldn't push it that far."

"Okay," Quentin says. "Well, you know I don't have much of a social life, so. When's the best time to do this?"

"I should have everything I need by next weekend," Alice says. "Maybe Friday night? I know you like to go to the Cottage parties on Saturdays."

"I can miss one," Quentin assures her. "Just let me know whenever you get what you need."

Alice smiles, small but genuine. "Thanks, Quentin."

* * *

Alice gets all of the materials needed for her modified seance ritual by Friday, and the following night, the two of them sneak out of the Physical Cottage and into one of the empty classrooms on campus. They need the mirror inside of it, since it's supposed to show the spirit of the departed and allow the two of them to interact with it. They set everything up with careful precision, double- and triple-checking themselves after every step. Quentin's nerves are running high when he and Alice finally settle down opposite each other and start sketching the first tut with their hands. They work together easily, the spell weaving between them almost effortlessly, magical energy gathering brighter and brighter in the sigil on the floor, reflected in the mirror - and then, with the final tut, it disappears with an audible _snap,_ like a lightbulb breaking. 

Quentin and Alice wait with bated breath, but nothing happens. 

Nothing continues to happen after they repeat the spell, and Quentin frowns slightly, glancing over the notes by his side. "Our pronunciation was spot-on," he murmurs. "Is it possible he's just... not here?"

"No," Alice says. She sounds furious, but not with Quentin. "His spirit has to be here. He _died_ here. It just didn't work. I guess I'm not strong enough, after all."

"It's a good spell," Quentin points out. "Maybe we just need more people for some other reason? Like how a car is more stable than a bike or a trike."

"No," Alice snaps. She starts gathering up the remnants of the ritual, every movement jerky with frustration. "I don't want to get anyone else involved. I'll have to find another way."

Quentin helps Alice gather the materials, packing things away carefully. "I can help you research," he offers.

But Alice shakes her head. "Thanks," she says, "but I'll work it out by myself. If I need your help again, though, can I let you know?"

"Of course," Quentin assures her. "You know where to find me."

Alice gives him a tight smile and shoulders her bag. "Thanks, Q. I'll see you around."

* * *

Alice holes herself up in the Cottage library and her room the next day, and Quentin spends most of the day avoiding questions from Margo and Eliot about _why_ he missed the party last night, finally bolting for the refuge of Julia's quiet dorm. He spends the rest of the day there, is tempted to spend the night except for the fact that all of his shit is back at the Cottage, so he eventually says goodnight and makes the trek back across campus. There's no party at the Cottage tonight, but Quentin thanks his lucky stars that Eliot and Margo are busy with something in the library, because it lets him sneak into his room without being spotted and, inevitably, questioned again.

The next morning starts off normally enough; Quentin wakes up, goes about his morning routine, and gets ready for classes. He meets Alice as she's walking out the door, and they walk in a comfortable silence across campus together - a silence that's broken by a shrill scream. Looking at each other with wide eyes, Quentin and Alice take off, running for the source - and come to a stop in the gravel outside of the building they'd snuck into on Saturday night as students and even some of the professors come streaming out of the doors. Dean Fogg is already there, pushing against the tide, and disappears inside. There's an overwhelming amount of chatter among the students standing in front of the building, but Quentin can still make out enough to make him worried. 

" - _see_ the mess Marston's room was - "

"I swear the walls were - "

" - the fuck did that thing even get _in_ \- "

Quentin and Alice share another glance, Alice's worried, Quentin's anxious, but they don't have a chance to say anything before Dean Fogg bursts out of the main doors of the class building again, looking decidedly more ruffled than he had been when he went in. There's something suspiciously shiny against the side of his head as he glares over the gathered students. "It appears," he says, booming voice getting him instant quiet from the gathered students and faculty. "That there is a poltergeist in the building. It has been contained, and we are working to get rid of it. When I catch whoever invited it in..." He glares over the crowd, all of whom shift nervously on their feet. "Classes are cancelled for today."

There's a halfhearted cheer, and the students begin chattering again as they disperse. Alice looks to her side - but Quentin is gone.

* * *

Eliot finds him behind the Physical Cottage he doesn't even know how long later, because he may or may not have lost time for a little while. Eliot crouches down next to him and rests a hand on his arm, and he manages not to flinch, but barely. "Alice is looking for you." Eliot's voice is soft and cautious. "She's worried about you."

"I'm - I'm fine," Quentin says, completely unconvincingly, his gaze dropping from Eliot's face back to his hands, twisted in his lap. 

"Bullshit," Eliot says. "Look, it's muddy back here and I'm ruining a pair of very expensive shoes because of how not-fine you are." His expression softens. "What happened, Q?"

Quentin shakes his head. "Did... Alice, um, tell you what we were doing Saturday?"

"No," Eliot says quietly. "But I have a feeling it has something to do with the poltergeist situation?"

Quentin takes in a deep breath, opens his mouth - but can't make himself actually say anything. So instead, he just nods. 

Eliot nods too, and holds out his hands. "Okay," he says, "you need to get up."

Quentin doesn't take Eliot's hands right away, but when he does, Eliot has to do most of the lifting, and keep Quentin steady when his knees wobble. "Sorry," he mutters. "Fogg... I just got... spooked." He snorts weakly at his own joke. 

Eliot smiles, but he doesn't take the bait. "Come on," he says. "Let's sit down somewhere that's actually for sitting and we can talk about it."

Quentin blows out a breath but nods nonetheless. He doesn't say anything - or let go of Eliot's hand - until they're on the patio chairs. "Sorry," he says once they're sitting. "For worrying you guys."

Eliot waves a hand, reclining back in his chair like he couldn't give a shit. The intensity of his gaze as it roams Quentin's face suggests otherwise. "You're here," he says, "you're alive, that's all that matters. But what the hell happened, Q?"

"I just - When Fogg said..." Quentin runs his hands through his hair, staring intently at the table between them. "My brain... breaks sometimes. I just got. Stuck on the sharp edges."

"Tell me more," Eliot encourages.

"It's - All the... the stuttering, and the fidgeting, and just the anxious behaviors, and sometimes feeling like life is just so fucking bland and _pointless_ , it's not. It's clinical anxiety. And Asperger's. And depression," Quentin confesses, all in a rush. "I'm supposed to be on medications for... all of that."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "But you're not?"

Quentin picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. "No, I'm not," he admits. "Fogg took my meds at the beginning of the semester, said that I wouldn't need them now that I was a magician at Brakebills, but Jules pitched a fit. I got my meds back, but." He bites his lip briefly before admitting, "I haven't been taking them. Told Jules I would, but. Haven't."

Eliot takes a moment to absorb this information, and then asks, "Why not?"

"Because - Because I want him to be _right,_ damn it!" Quentin cries, looking at Eliot like he's begging Eliot to understand. "I want at least _some_ of what's wrong with me to be because I've been lacking magic all my life."

"And maybe it is," Eliot allows, something tight and annoyed around his mouth, "but Fogg was wrong to say that to you. Magic doesn't cure problems in life. More often than not, it causes them."

Quentin snorts, turning his attention back to the loose thread in his shirt. "Yeah, I - I can see that," he mutters. "But it. It _shouldn't._ Otherwise, what's the point?"

"There isn't one," Eliot says bluntly. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers it, open, to Quentin. "At least none that I've ever found. They don't tell you this in your induction seminar, but magic doesn't come from love and hope and all those fluffy things. It comes from pain."

Quentin takes one of the cigarettes, lighting it and taking a long drag, holding the burning smoke in his lungs for a moment before he lets it out. "How do you know that?"

Eliot lights his own cigarette and proceeds to smoke half of it before he answers. "Because I killed someone."

Quentin rocks back in his chair. "What?"

"I was fourteen," Eliot says. It looks like it's taking monumental effort to hold Quentin's gaze, but he doesn't waver. "He was this... He beat me up." He tells the story unflinchingly, how the guy used to beat him up after school, how he saw him crossing the road with a bus approaching. How it took the barest thought to end Logan Kinnear's life. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke in a shaky plume - and then he looks away. "And that is the story of how I discovered I was telekinetic."

" _Shit,_ " Quentin breathes, giving in to the urge to reach across the table and touch the back of Eliot's hand. "That's - That's awful."

Eliot offers him a tight smile, but he does flip his hand over and give Quentin's fingers a brief squeeze before he pulls away. "Yeah," he says. "But that's what magic is all about, at least as far as I can tell. Maybe you'll find something different."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’ve only known magic is real for... a few months now."

Eliot takes another drag, and this time he blows the smoke at Quentin. "I don't know," he says, something like amusement dancing in his eyes. "Maybe you should start taking your meds."

Quentin rolls his eyes, sketches a quick tut to blow the cigarette smoke back in Eliot's face. "You really think that'll help?"

Eliot's eyes are practically sparkling, now. "I think it's worth a shot," he says. "If anyone can find the meaning in magic, it's you."

Quentin's face goes hot, and he takes another drag from his cigarette to save himself from having to say anything else. "I'm not that special," he mumbles, without looking at Eliot.

"Bullshit," Eliot says, not unkindly. "Everyone's special, but you..." He shakes his head. "I'm not sitting here to tell you that it gets better. I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone here."

Quentin glances up then, peeks at Eliot through the cover of his bangs. "Yeah?"

Eliot nods, flicks his ash onto the ground. "We're all a little fucked up, Q," he says. "If you have something you could be doing to make this easier for you, you need to do it."

Quentin's face goes hot again, but when he drops his gaze, there's a slight smile on his face. It's small, barely there - but there nonetheless. "Yeah, alright. I guess if you _and_ Jules think I should be doing it, I should probably listen, huh?"

Eliot smiles at that. "Probably," he agrees. "From what I know of Julia Wicker, she's almost as wise as me."

* * *

They hang out for a little longer, purposefully steering the conversation away from sensitive topics, but then Quentin decides that he needs to sleep off the remnants of his anxiety and Eliot lets him go. He promises to let Quentin know immediately if he hears anything about Fogg or the haunting, and extracts a promise from Quentin in return that he'll take his medication as soon as he gets back to his room. Quentin just admitted to lying to his oldest and dearest friend about that, though, so Eliot resolves to check up on him later, just to be safe.

And then he realises that he needs to talk to Margo.

He finds her in the Cottage kitchen, chatting to Alice. From the looks of things they aren't just emerging from a Deep and Meaningful of their own, so Eliot doesn't feel too bad about dragging her away.

"Margo," is all he says, but it's enough.

Margo looks annoyed for all of two seconds before she catches sight of the look on Eliot's face. Then her expression morphs to one that would look to anyone else like disinterested curiosity, but looks like worry to Eliot, who can see it in her eyes. "Yes, El?"

Alice turns to look at him, too, and with both of their gazes prickling over his skin Eliot takes a breath. "I have a particularly expensive bottle of red with our names on it when you're not... indisposed."

Margo glances at Alice for a moment before offering her a smile, letting her fingers brush against the back of Alice's hand as she steps towards Eliot. "Well, Alice and I were just about finished here."

"Are you sure?" Eliot asks. Alice is definitely smart enough to see through their act, but he stubbornly keeps up the pretense anyway. "I do enjoy day drinking, but it's just a bottle of wine. It can wait."

"I'm sure," Margo says firmly, wrapping her hand around Eliot's arm. "I'll talk to you later, Alice."

Alice smiles and pushes her glasses up her nose. "See you."

Eliot turns and lets Margo lead him from the room.

Margo doesn't say anything until they're sequestered away in Eliot's room, and then, "You better have wine for whatever conversation that look in your eyes holds."

Eliot rolls said eyes, hard. "I always have wine," he says. "Sit down."

Margo does as bid, watching Eliot carefully as he gets the bottle and pours them each a glass of wine. "What's going on?" she asks as she takes the glass Eliot passes her.

Eliot downs half his glass before he answers. "It's Q," he says at last. He can't meet her gaze.

Margo's eyebrow rises. "What about Q?"

"He was upset," Eliot says. "About the haunting. I think he's scared Fogg's going to kick him out if he finds out what happened. He's... not doing great."

Margo makes a sympathetic noise. "Alice was worried about the same thing," she confides. "But... not to the same extent as Quentin, I’m guessing?"

Eliot shakes his head. "I told him," he confesses. "About Logan Kinnear."

Margo pauses with the glass halfway to her lips, eyes widening as she lowers it. "You told him about that? _Why?_ "

Eliot's gaze skitters away once more. "Yes," he says. "He needed something, a... connection. So I gave him one."

Margo studies him for a moment. "I'm assuming it didn't leave you with warm and fuzzy feelings."

Eliot laughs, a harsh, strangled thing. "I have no fucking idea what it left me with."

Margo scoots closer, until her hip is bumped up against Eliot's. "Talk to me, baby," she says quietly. "Don't bottle it all up."

Eliot sighs and wraps an arm around her, pressing his face into her hair so that he doesn't have to look at her. "I like him, Bambi," he admits.

"Oh, El," Margo sighs, wrapping her own arm around Eliot's waist and pressing closer. She doesn't have to ask him if he's sure, or _how_ he likes Quentin. She reaches up, buries her fingers in Eliot's hair and strokes gently. 

Eliot kisses the top of her head and closes his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

* * *

Quentin makes sure that Julia’s alone in her dorm before he ventures across campus the next day. He had started taking his medication again as he’d promised Eliot - _Like I promised Jules weeks ago,_ he thinks, guiltily - and it’s probably just a placebo effect, but Quentin feels more settled than he has in weeks. Of course, just because he’s feeling settled in his body doesn’t mean his mind has quit spinning its wheels. It’s been running like a hamster on pure caffeine, and Quentin needs to talk to someone who _isn’t_ the subject of his whirling thoughts about what’s going on in his head, and he hasn’t spent a lot of time with Julia lately. So, he texts Julia, asks if she’s free, and when she invites him over, Quentin pounces on the chance.

”Hey,” he says, wrapping Julia up in a hug that probably lasts too long but feels too fucking good to step away from any sooner. “Sorry I haven’t... been around a lot, things have been. Pretty fucking crazy at the Cottage.”

"It's okay," Julia assures him, "things have been pretty crazy here, too." She smiles at him and gestures for him to sit on her bed. "Do you want a Coke?"

"Yeah, sure " Quentin says, settling on the bed. "Been busy?"

Julia lets out a long breath. "You could say that," she says. "I've been seeing a lot of Kady, and Penny."

"That's good," Quentin says, oblivious. "I know I've been spending a lot of time with Eliot and Margo and Alice, haven't been by a lot. Sorry for that."

Julia blinks at him, and then laughs. "I don't think it's quite the same thing, Q."

"Well, obviously, since you aren't rooming with them," Quentin says. "Speaking of, Eliot - "

Julia cuts him off. "Quentin. Come on."

Quentin blinks, taken aback. "What?"

"You know I love you," Julia says. "But the thing with Eliot isn't going to change until you stick your tongue in his mouth, and I'm already there with my drama."

Quentin abruptly feels like the worst best friend _ever,_ and he immediately straightens on the bed, shifting so he's fully facing Julia. "What's going on?"

"I just told you," Julia says, with infinite patience. "I'm seeing Kady. And Penny."

Quentin frowns thoughtfully, still not getting it - and then he _does,_ and his eyes go wide. " _Both_ of them?"

Julia gives him an 'I know, right?' sort of look, and nods along with it. "Yeah. It's wild."

"Pretty goddamn wild," Quentin agrees. "How long...?"

"A while," Julia admits, somewhat sheepishly. "Kady and I were sleeping together while we were still in the dorms, and Kady and Penny were sleeping together at the same time. Which is fine, we weren't exclusive or anything. And then Penny and I hooked up at one of the first Cottage parties, and... None of us want to choose? So it just. Kept happening."

"Damn," Quentin breathes. "But you're... happy?"

"I think so," Julia says. She hesitates. "I think it's still just hooking up, though? Neither of them really seem like the commitment type, and I didn't think I was either after James and I broke up after graduation. But. I like them both? I know they're not sleeping with other people, but they're still acting like it's casual."

"Well, I mean. Polyamory _is_ a thing," Quentin points out, thoughtful, even as he scoots closer and pulls Julia in against his side at the mention of James. "But we're all first years here. Kady hasn't even been sorted into her discipline yet, right? Maybe they're waiting for things to settle a bit."

"Maybe," Julia allows, though she sounds doubtful. "They just don't talk about it. It took us long enough to acknowledge it was even happening."

Quentin concedes the point with a tilt of his head, finishing the motion to let his cheek rest against Julia's hair. "Well, they're treating you okay, right?"

Julia nods. "Yeah. They're fine." She winces. "I know you don't really get along with Penny."

"Not really," Quentin says with a wry twist to his mouth. "But if you're with him... _however,_ then I can be civil. Mostly."

That makes Julia laugh. "I wish I could say the same for him."

"Penny is an ass and I've accepted this," Quentin sighs, lips twitching. "Doesn't mean we have to be outright dicks to each other."

Julia actually _giggles_. "He is an ass," she agrees. "And Kady's a bitch. But it's kind of sexy, Q."

"That's always been your type," Quentin laughs, pulling the both of them back against the headboard and getting comfortable. "Come on, tell me everything."

That's all the encouragement Julia needs.

* * *

Eliot isn't actively avoiding Quentin, but he hasn't really seen him for a few days. It's definitely not on purpose, it's just... their schedules haven't aligned the way they normally do. It's getting to that point in the semester where Quentin has a fair amount of homework, and Eliot is just busy, so they don't run into each other very often. Still, by the time the weekend rolls around and brings the next Cottage party with it, Eliot is at the point where he's glad to see Quentin there.

He's behind the bar, because what else is new? He catches Quentin's attention with little difficulty and waves him over. "Hey," he says when Quentin reaches him. He's already mixing a mojito for a girl dressed in a red pleather skirt while she chats to her friend. "Do you want anything?"

Quentin considers the expanse of alcohol behind Eliot for a moment. "Margarita on the rocks," he decides. "With as much salt as you can fit on the rim."

Eliot grins. He finishes off the mojito and hands it off to the girl, and reaches for a clean glass. "Feeling adventurous tonight?" he wonders.

Quentin matches Eliot's grin with one of his own, even though his face is hot. "Maybe I am."

Eliot looks delighted. "Well don't go too far, tonight," he says. "I haven't seen enough of you this week."

Quentin laughs. "I missed you, too," he tells Eliot, smiling. 

Eliot just slides the margarita over to Quentin, the rim of the glass glistening with a thick frost of rock salt. "Does this meet your standards?" he asks.

Quentin takes the glass, lifting up for a testing sip. He hums, pleased, and licks the salt from his lips. "Best fucking margarita I've ever had."

Eliot smirks. "You're damn right it is." He stops, then, and peers suspiciously down his nose at Quentin. "But I thought you weren't supposed to drink with your medication."

"I can't drink _a lot,_ " Quentin corrects. "But thank you for - the concern."

Quentin expects Eliot to shrug it off, but he just fixes Quentin with a serious look. "I want to look out for you," he says. "I told you, didn't I? You're not alone."

Quentin blinks, caught off-guard, and then he smiles, a small, genuine - if slightly-shy - thing that makes him duck his head. "Yeah," he says, clearly unsure of what else to say. "You did."

Eliot smiles back. "Well, drink up and let me know when you want another one. If your meds will allow it, I want to see if I can get you tipsy enough to dance with me again."

Quentin nearly chokes on his sip of margarita, has to put the glass down on the bar top to keep from spilling it. When he finally looks up at Eliot again, there's color high on his cheeks. "You - Um. That... I don't think that. Will happen," he says, but it's weak, and he won't meet Eliot's eyes. "I told you, I don't really dance."

"We had fun last time, didn't we?" Eliot counters. "I can cast that spell again, if you want."

Quentin glances at the crowd in the living room, down to his drink, and finally back up at Eliot. "Ask me again, after - after I've had another one of these," he says with a nervous smile. 

Eliot grins. "Deal."

Quentin's smile is less nervous as he picks his drink back up and gives Eliot a small salute with it. "I'm, uh, going to find Alice," he says. "I'll be back in a bit, though."

Eliot waves him off. "Have fun."

Quentin stays away from the bar as he finishes his first drink. Once he has his second in hand - Moscow Mule this time - he stays closer to the bar, chatting with Eliot and Margo and waving to Julia, sandwiched between Penny and Kady on the dance floor, when the crowd parts. By the time he finishes this drink, Quentin feels loose and more relaxed than before, enough that, the next time he catches Eliot's eye, he tilts his copper mug towards Eliot. "Finished my second drink," he announces. 

"I can see that," Eliot says, smirking. "Do you need a third?"

"No," Quentin says. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the music, or maybe just the look in Eliot's eyes, but something gives him the courage to lean against the bar and ask, "Do _you_ need a break?"

Eliot's been half-heartedly wiping the bartop down during an unusual lull in demand, and he drops his cloth instantly. "Yes," he says. "Margo, you're in charge."

Margo laughs, not unkindly, and waves Eliot away as she moves behind the bar. "I'll see you out there," Quentin says, giving Eliot a small smile before turning and walking away, towards the dance floor. 

Eliot's barely taken a step to follow before there's a snort to his side; when he looks, a third year named Brett is lounging against the railing to the stairs. "You know he's not gonna fuck you, right?" he drawls as soon as Eliot looks at him. 

Eliot raises a single perfect eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Brett shrugs. "I'm just saying, I bet no one'd be able to get a nerd like that into bed with them."

Eliot actually laughs. "Just watch me," he says, and walks away.

* * *

Quentin and Eliot find a new rhythm, one that flows easily around their courses and their friends. Quentin finally starts to feel settled in Brakebills, like being a magician is something he might actually be able to do. Now that he's back on his medications, coursework becomes _fun_ , and Quentin's having the time of his life.

He and Alice continue developing their friendship, and when Alice is ready to look for Charlie's spirit again, she finds Quentin in his room, tells him about a tracker spell she'd found, one designed to taglock to a soul. She says that she thinks maybe Quentin was onto something with his comment about Charlie not being there in the classroom, so they need to find out where his spirit actually is. The spell is relatively simple; once activated, all they have to do is follow the flame of the candle Alice is holding. It leads them to Woof Fountain, and when the flame burns high and bright before abruptly snuffing itself out, Alice is elated. 

They're determined to go into this more prepared than they had been last time, so they buckle down and start researching. Eventually, this leads them to someone from Charlie's year - who dropped out after an incident that Brakebills doesn't have on any official record. They manage to track her down and what they learn makes Quentin more uneasy than ever: After his classmate had fucked up a spell, Charlie had tried to fix it, channeling too much magic for a student to handle and turning himself into a Niffin, a soulless creature made of pure magic. Chaos unleashed, essentially. 

Alice is still determined, however, and throws herself into her new avenue of research with almost reckless abandon. Quentin helps where he can, but Alice does the majority of the research, and Quentin resigns himself to his role as caretaker, making sure that Alice eats and stays hydrated as she researches. It takes her almost a week, but eventually she pulls Quentin into the Cottage library, clearly excited about her progress. Quentin goes easily, waiting until the door is shut behind them before he speaks. "You found something?"

"Two things," Alice says. "The majority of the material insists that Niffins can't be cured; they can only be contained."

Quentin considers that. "The magic like, overruns their souls basically, right? Chases 'them' out?"

"Right," Alice says. "And they can't really be destroyed, either? So people use these boxes to trap them in." She hands the box over for Quentin to look at.

Quentin turns the box over in his hands, frowning thoughtfully. "How do they do that? I don't see how this opens."

"The spell fuses the Niffin to the wood," Alice says. "It's completely irreversible. If that's what it comes to, I'll never see Charlie again."

"Oh." Quentin bites his lip, continues fiddling with the box. "What's the spell?"

"It's pretty simple," Alice admits. "You just repeat 'I bind you' in Turkish and English until it's, well, bound. But I'm hoping it won't come to that."

Quentin tucks that piece of information away just in case it _does_ come to that. "So, what are you going to try?"

Alice takes a breath. "I'm going to try to bring Charlie back."

Quentin blinks. "Back, like... from the dead?"

Alice pulls a face. "No," she says, "that's not possible. But if I can bring him back from being a Niffin, maybe he can move on. Like, his spirit."

Quentin nods. "Okay. When do you want to do this?"

"As soon as possible," Alice says. "I'm ready."

Quentin glances at the clock on the nearby mantle, thinks for a moment, and then looks back at Alice. "I don't have anything else tonight," he says, determined. "Let's go."

For a moment, Alice looks blankly shocked - but then she grins. "All right," she agrees. "Let's do it."

* * *

"I'm done for," Quentin mutters as soon as he finishes reading the magically-folded note from Fogg's office. It had found him on the Cottage's patio, drinking and smoking with Eliot in an attempt to distract himself from what had happened the night before. "I'm as good as dead."

"What is it?" Eliot asks, sounding for all the world like he's only mildly interested. It would be convincing, if not for the way his gaze hasn't left Quentin since the note arrived.

"Fogg wants to see me. In his office. About last night."

Eliot blinks, and unfolds himself from his lazy sprawl until he's upright, even leaning toward Quentin a little. "Shit." He takes a drag on his cigarette and hastily backtracks. "It might not be that bad. So you did a little seance and unleashed a poltergeist on the school. You also saved that school from a Niffin, so it balances out, right?"

"Alice _left,_ " Quentin points out, still staring at the note in his hands. "And putting the school in danger is pretty fucking bad, Eliot! What if I get _expelled?_ "

Eliot swallows hard. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Quentin looks at Eliot sharply. "What? Why?"

Eliot hesitates, but he can't lie to Quentin. "They'll wipe your memories," he says.

" _What?_ That's real?"

Eliot shrugs helplessly. "They can't kick you out and then let you roam the streets knowing magic exists. So they make you forget."

"That - " Quentin swallows, hard. "That makes sense. That's also a really fucking frightening thought."

"Don't think about it," Eliot says. "It won't come to that. Probably. And if it does..."

" _Probably?_ " Quentin echoes, voice distressingly high. "That sounds real fucking confident, El!"

Eliot silences him with a look. " _If it does_ ," he goes on, "I'll just have to find you. I won't say magic is real, but I will seduce you, and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades."

That brings Quentin up short. "What? Why would you - We've only known each other for a couple of months," he stutters, face hot.

Eliot waves a dismissive hand. "I bond fast."

Quentin still doesn't look terribly reassured, and he bites his lip as he looks back down at the letter. "He wants to see me as soon as possible," he says, clearly reluctant. 

Eliot nods. "Do you want me to go with you?" he offers.

Quentin looks up quickly, relief clear in his expression. "Please."

"Of course," Eliot says. He takes a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out, and considers his wine glass. "Are we going now?"

Quentin takes a deep breath. "Might as well," he sighs, reaching for his own glass and draining the last of it. 

Eliot does the same, and they stand up together. "Oh well," he says. "Once more unto the breach."

* * *

Eliot manages to keep Quentin relatively distracted during the walk across campus, but Fogg none-too-subtly implies that Eliot isn't welcome in this discussion when they finally reach his office, and Quentin goes in alone. He's expecting reprimands, threats of expulsion - but that's not what he gets, exactly. By the time he exits Fogg's office, he feels like a child who's been scolded by his principal, which... isn't entirely wrong. "Well," Quentin says, door shutting behind him. "That went... okay? Ish?"

Eliot is on his feet in an instant. "Did they wipe you already?" he asks.

That gets a startled laugh from Quentin, who shakes his head. "No, uh. He mostly told me to quit putting myself in dangerous situations?"

Eliot blinks, and then he's laughing, too. "Well, he's not fucking wrong."

Quentin shakes his head, still chuckling. "No, he isn't. But uh, guess that means the seduction plan gets put on hold for now."

Eliot just shrugs. "Not necessarily."

Quentin blinks. "What?"

Eliot grins and loops his arm through Quentin's. "Come on," he says. "Let's go back to the Cottage and we can open a bottle of wine."

Quentin lets himself be dragged. "No, wait, Eliot, you _didn't answer my question -_ "

* * *

"For fuck sake," Penny complains as Quentin flops down onto the sofa beside Julia, "are you still moping?"

It's been two weeks since Quentin didn't get kicked out of school. They're in the middle of Alumni Week, the whole campus in a flurry of activity as students try to impress talented and successful magicians into taking them under their wing. Quentin doesn't care about any of this, though, because Alice is back, and she's refusing to speak to him.

Julia gives him a playful nudge. "Come on," she says. "Chin up. We're taking bets about whether it'll be Eliot or Margo who manage to win Genji over."

"My money's on Margo," Kady says from her position with her head in Julia's lap, her legs thrown across Penny's. "She fights dirty."

"So does Eliot," Quentin says absently. "And I'm not - I'm not _moping._ "

Penny snorts. "Yes you are," he says. "You're all whiny and pathetic because your girlfriend doesn't like you anymore. You basically re-killed her brother, man, she's never going to speak to you again."

"That's not true," Julia insists. "Q saved her life. Of course she'll talk to you again; she just needs time."

Quentin throws Penny a glare, leaning into Julia a little more heavily. "I hope so. And she wasn't my girlfriend, dick."

"She's cute though," Kady says thoughtfully. "If I didn't already have a nerd of my own..."

"Sadly for you, I'm pretty sure Margo already called dibs," Julia laughs. "Besides, Quentin has his eye on someone else."

Penny groans. "Don't remind me."

"You know what, asshole? I'm gonna start singing Taylor Swift in my head - on _purpose_ \- if you keep being such a dick," Quentin grumbles, getting a laugh from Kady, who reaches over to pat his knee. 

"It's all part of his charm," she says. "Besides, he'll take it as a challenge to make your life a living hell. Fair warning."

Penny points at Quentin. "She's right," he says. "Don't do it. I'll destroy any chance with--"

A delicate cough cuts Penny off, and all four of them freeze before looking to the left of the couch, where Alice is standing, a piece of paper in one hand and an expression on her face like she's not sure whether she really wants to be here. "Quentin? The main office wanted me to deliver this to you, since I was coming back here."

She holds the paper out, and Quentin takes it without really looking at it. "Oh, uh, thanks," he says, giving Alice a small, uncertain-yet-hopeful smile. 

"Are you getting kicked out for real this time?" Penny asks hopefully. Julia glares at him.

Quentin shoots Penny a half-hearted glare of his own as he thumbs open the letter. He drops his gaze to read it - and he almost immediately sucks in a breath so sharp that even Kady looks alarmed. "Quentin?" Alice asks, hesitant and unsure as she shifts in place. 

"It's - It's my dad," he whispers, one hand curving around his ear, pushing his hair to the side but not behind his ear. 

"What about him?" Julia asks, her hand on his arm. "Is he okay?"

Quentin shakes his head, tilting the note so that Julia can read it as Kady pushes herself off of Julia's lap and onto Penny's, turning so that they're facing the others. "He's - He's been having some tests done," Quentin says quietly. "He just got the results back."

Julia makes short work of the note, and her eyes go wide. "Oh," she breathes. "Oh, Q."

"What?" Penny demands. "Is he dying or something?" Then he catches the look on Julia's face, and his jaw slackens. "Oh. Fuck."

Kady reaches for Julia, and Quentin shoves himself abruptly to his feet. "I need to go see him," he says, narrowly avoiding tripping over the leg of the coffee table as he steps around the couch. 

"Q, wait," Julia says, shrugging Kady off while she gets to her feet, too. "I'll go with you."

Quentin pauses, turns to give Julia a grateful look. "That - Yeah. Thanks," he says, waiting for Julia to catch up with him before he turns back towards the door. 

* * *

Quentin spends equal amounts of time with his father and frantically researching, trying to find some way of getting the cancer out of Ted Coldwater's goddamned _brain._ He even goes so far as to construct his own potential cure, trying it out on Gerald - Cancer Puppy, the unofficial mascot of the Physical Cottage - which... doesn't end well. To be fair, Quentin doesn't know if it's the _cure_ that killed Gerald, or whether Quentin's cure interfered with the age suspension magic and a hundred years of aging caught up with Gerald at once. Either way, he can't take the chance that the same thing will happen to his dad, so Quentin settles for fixing what he can: an old airplane model of Ted's that Quentin had broken when he was seven or eight, that Ted had never repaired. It's how Quentin discovers his discipline - Repair of Small Objects, Fogg tells him, after he finishes asking Quentin what the _fuck_ he was thinking, telling his father about magic - and finds out that he's definitely a Physical Kid.

He doesn't really get any time to celebrate, however; while they're supposed to have a long weekend break, Quentin and the other first years all end up dragged out of their various dorms to the clearing behind the Physical Cottage, where the Trials, some stupid magical midterm administered by the second and third year students, are introduced. Quentin somehow manages to muddle through them all, thankfully, because he _really_ doesn't want to be expelled now, after everything he's managed to get through _not_ being expelled for. He thinks, briefly, that he's done for when he and Alice are paired up for the last trial, the one where they have to spill their deepest Secrets to each other while tied up naked, but their ropes fall under tearful, tipsy confessions just before the time limit. Quentin and Alice barely get more than an exclamation of joy out before they're suddenly screaming instead, bones cracking and skin stretching - and then they're _flying,_ and kind of lose track of time until they're back to being human, standing in the absolute stupidest onesies Quentin has ever seen as some guy with an incredibly thick Russian accent yells at them about how their _real_ training begins now - and promptly takes away their voices.

Quentin doesn't like Mayakovsky one single solitary bit, and he _maybe_ lets his annoyance with the older magician get in the way of his learning and Mayakovsky’s teaching until Mayakovsky finally has enough. Quentin does feel guilty about dragging Alice down with him, even after he told her that she could go on, he'd be fine. He'd been touched when she refused, though, but now Quentin feels even more guilty, standing in the freezing entryway, Alice shivering beside him as Mayakovsky strides down the stairs, a determined expression on his face as he approaches them. "You two!" he barks, gesturing with the hand not holding a bottle of what Quentin assumes is vodka. "You are both stubborn, and willful. Powerful, but too _arrogant_ to use it." He takes a swig from the bottle, sets it on the nearby table, and raises his hands. "So I shall humble you. Maybe _then_ you can finally cast properly."

Alice exchanges a concerned look with Quentin. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asks.

"It means, you will learn just how difficult it is to cast when you most need to," Mayakovsky says, matter-of-fact, as his fingers twitch. The door behind them blows open, and Quentin and Alice shout when the cold air hits them - and then again when they hit the snow, blown backwards by Mayakovsky's spell. Quentin starts to splutter something - only for what he was about to say to come out as a terrified _bark._

Mayakovsky looks at them, satisfied, from the open doorway. "Find the Tower to the North of here," he tells them. "You survive until morning, I will come and get you."

And then, he shuts the door. 

When Quentin turns to look at her, Alice just grimaces at him. At least, it looks like a grimace - but most expressions would, her nose too long and her teeth too sharp. She pads over to him on all fours, gets her head right up under his chin, and _nuzzles_ him - and then she's off, kicking snow into his face as she starts to run.

Quentin yelps, shaking the snow from his face as he chases after the vixen in front of him. He can _feel_ an entirely different set of instincts trying to take over, the fox's innate knowledge of how to survive the bitter Antarctic cold clamping his ears against his head and keeping him moving, seeking the leeward side of the snow drifts as he heads in the direction he instinctively knows is North. Alice is smaller, slightly more agile than he is, but his legs are longer, and he catches up to her quickly, the two of them racing through the snow. 

Brakebills South's campus is entirely snow-covered, both ground and air as the wind of this storm blows snow into their eyes. It stings, but he squints against it, his lashes protecting him from the worst of the storm as he and Alice work their way across the campus to the tower that they can just barely make out in the distance. The journey is brutal, even with their fur and minimized exposure to the cutting wind. Quentin and Alice stay close together, and Quentin breathes a sigh of relief when they finally reach the North Tower. They have to dig their way through the snow to a hole in the wall, but once they're out of the wind and the worst of the cold, Mayakovsky's spell drops without further preamble - and leaves them naked. " _Fuck,_ " Quentin gasps, arms wrapped around himself, teeth already chattering. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ what the fuck!"

"He's a great magician," Alice says, her teeth chattering, "but he's a _fucking_ sociopath!"

Quentin shivers violently, and looks around frantically, finally finding some blankets in a corner. "Here," he says, reaching for Alice and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they stumble to the blankets. "C'mon, we need - shit - we need to get, get warm."

Alice all but falls to her knees when they reach them, and grabs a handful of blanket to wrap around herself while Quentin does the same. "What a s-s-sadistic _asshole_ ," she spits. "He's clearly done this b-before."

"Yeah," Quentin agrees, unashamedly pressing in closer to Alice so he can wrap another blanket around both of them, building up layers. "That's j-just fucking _w-wrong,_ what the hell. C-can't be legal."

"Do you think Mayakovsky gives a sh-shit about what's legal?" Alice laughs, harsh and bitter. "Come here. We'll f-fucking die if we don't share b-b-body heat."

Quentin doesn't bother saying anything else, just presses even closer, lifts his arm so Alice can tuck herself against his side. 

* * *

They don't expect to sleep at all, but one moment they're clinging to each other, shivering so hard they feel like they're going to die, and the next stark sunlight is streaming in through the windows. They wince awake, instinctively shying away from the light; when they manage to open their eyes, it's to see Mayakovsky looming over them.

"Oh my _God,_ " Quentin groans without thinking, tossing one of the blankets back over his head. "Fuck off, you sadistic asshole."

Mayakovsky looks unimpressed. "You learned nothing, then," he growls.

"We learned that you shouldn't be allowed to teach," Alice snaps. She hides her face in Quentin's chest. "Let us go home."

Mayakovsky rolls his eyes, fingers crossing before he yanks his hand close - and then frowns. "Hm. Usually when I come fetch the two most stubborn students, they're... much closer than they used to be," he muses.

Quentin, occupied with making sure that the blankets aren't showing anything _inappropriate,_ takes a moment to realize what Mayakovsky is implying. " _What?_ "

"So you're a pervert, too," Alice splutters. "How dare you?"

"Stubbornness only comes from a few sources in young Magicians," Mayakovsky says bluntly. He reaches behind himself, into a pack, and tosses two bundles at Quentin and Alice. "Get dressed, I will portal you back to New York. The rest of your class has already left."

Then Mayakovsky just walks away, wandering deeper into the tower. Alice looks at Quentin. "I hate him."

"I hate him, too," Quentin grumbles, reaching for the bundle that Mayakovsky had dropped onto his chest. "Fucking - Why the hell did he expect _us_ to fuck? We don't... give off that, I don't know, vibe or whatever, do we?"

Alice grimaces. "I hope not," she says. "No offence."

Quentin snorts. "None taken," he assures Alice, unfolding another of those stupid-looking outfits and tugging the shirt on over his head. "I mean, I really care for you. And you're - Okay, don't take this the wrong way, but. I'm bi, and I'm not going to lie, I've thought about it before? Like. You're really fucking gorgeous, Alice. But, uh. I'm pretty sure Margo would murder me for being competition, honestly? And I like living, and I like being your friend, so."

Alice hesitates in putting on her own shirt so that she can give Quentin a gentle smile. "My sentiments exactly," she says. "Except not about Margo."

Quentin flushes. "I, uh. You'd have a better chance of holding your own, at least."

Alice shrugs. "I don't think he's the type, actually," she admits. "Margo would definitely kill you, but Eliot... I don't know. I think he'd step back."

Quentin frowns, pausing in the process of pulling his pants on. "What?"

"I just don't think he's as possessive as Margo," Alice says.

Quentin's frown turns thoughtful. "I... don't know," he admits, tying the drawstring at his waist. "Guess I've never really thought about it."

Alice rolls her eyes. "Well, maybe you should," she says. She finishes pulling her shoes on and straightens up. "Just maybe not right now. I really want to get back to Brakebills."

" _Same,_ " Quentin says earnestly. "Let's find Mayakovsky and get the fuck out of here."

* * *

Eliot and Margo are on the lawn outside the Cottage when they get back, and Quentin takes the cocktail from Eliot's hand as soon as he reaches them and knocks it back. Eliot doesn't seem to mind; he just raises an eyebrow and asks, "That bad?"

"Mayakovsky is a _dick,_ " Quentin announces, setting the now-empty glass down on a nearby table. "He can go fuck himself."

Margo laughs. "Who did he throw out in the snow this year?"

" _Us_ ," Alice says, scowling.

Eliot's eyes go very wide. "Did you..?"

All too aware of the way Margo's eyes have narrowed dangerously, Quentin hastens to say, "No! No, he just - turned us into foxes, and we ended up getting into the North Tower and sleeping, once we got under like, two dozen blankets."

Eliot visibly relaxes, while Alice laughs. "And now I need to get into my own clothes," she says. "I'll see you guys inside, okay?"

Quentin gives Alice a smile and a wave as she leaves; once she's gone, he focuses back on Eliot and Margo. "How have things been here?"

"Dramatic," Eliot says. "We've been working on a regalo for this year's Encanto Oculto."

Quentin blinks. "This year's what?"

"Encanto Oculto," Margo says, smirking. "Basically think a week long orgy in a different exotic location each year. This year it's in Ibiza, which means orgies on the beach. My favorite."

"You need an invitation to get in," Eliot adds. "You can come if you want."

Margo raises an eyebrow and Quentin blinks again. "I'm... sorry, what?"

Margo looks at Eliot for a moment before her expression morphs into a sharp smile. "Come with us. This is us officially inviting you for the greatest week of your life - if you remember it."

That doesn't do much to reassure Quentin, but after a moment he licks his lips. "What... would I need to bring?"

"A G-string," Eliot says. "Not much else."

Quentin manages to choke out a laugh. "I'll, um. See what I can find?"

* * *

A couple of days later, Julia sits on Quentin's bed, watching him struggle to pack and trying not to laugh. "Why did you even say yes?" she asks, not for the first time.

"I panicked!" Quentin cries, not for the first time, either. "I just - He and Margo were giving me these _looks,_ and El looked so relieved when Alice and I said we hadn't fucked, and I wasn't _thinking_ and I said yes to a week-long orgy and drug fest and _what the hell am I supposed to bring to that?_ "

Julia giggles at that. "A G-string?" she suggests.

Quentin points a finger at her. "That's what Eliot said! But I'm - Okay, one, I don't own one of those, and two, I wouldn't wear it in front of who the fuck _knows_ how many strangers!"

"I was kidding!" Julia insists. She's given up on trying to contain her laughter. "Just take normal beach stuff. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"I know that," Quentin insists, running a hand through his already-wild hair. "I just... _Fuck,_ Jules. They invited me and Alice to go. _Eliot and Margo_ invited _me and Alice._ "

" _And?_ " Julia asks. "I thought this was a good thing!"

"What if they like, make a move?" Quentin worries. "What if Margo makes her move first and then she and Alice leave me and Eliot alone? What if Eliot makes a move?"

"What _if_ he makes a move?" Julia asks. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes? No? I don't - I don't know that I want it to be at something like _this,_ though," Quentin sighs, dropping onto his bed next to Julia and laying his head on her shoulder. "How could I... How could I trust it?"

Julia finally finds her composure, and strokes her fingers through Quentin's hair. "He wouldn't have invited you if he didn't want you there," she reasons. "He cares about you, and whether you want to see it or not, he _really_ likes you. I know you like him back. Just be honest with him about what you need, relax, and try to have a good time."

Quentin heaves a large sigh, settling more heavily against Julia as he wraps an arm around her waist. "Okay," he mumbles, eyes sliding closed. "Y'know, being told to relax so often would be really fucking annoying if I didn't know that my anxiety is a bitch."

"Anxiety is a bitch," Julia agrees. "But you've got this, Q."

Quentin takes a deep breath. "I've got this," he repeats, trying to make himself believe it. "It's only a week-long Cottage party dialed up to eleven. I've got this."

* * *

The next morning is hectic as the four of them get their shit together and ready a portal to the resort that they'll be staying at for the next week. There are a few other second and third years with them, but Quentin and Alice are the only first years. Stepping through the portal takes Quentin's breath away, and when he nearly stumbles on the other side, Eliot catches him easily. Margo and Eliot lead their respective guests through the registration - "Have to make sure you don't get claimed by someone else, or lost," Margo had laughed - and check-in processes. Margo and Alice are rooming together in the beachside apartment reserved for the Brakebills guests, and Eliot and Quentin have a room to themselves as well.

Magic is thick and heady in the air - or maybe it's just magic-enhanced smoke, since the week-long party is already in full swing when they arrive. After dropping off their bags, they take their regalo to the Elders - a djinn in a bottle, and _that_ had been one hell of a tale of acquisition - and as they're leaving, Quentin steps in closer to Eliot, partly so that Eliot will hear him, and partly to avoid a nearly-naked group of magicians chatting in what sounds like Arabic. "So, if you have to be invited here, who invited you guys?"

"A guy in the year above me," Eliot says easily. "Well, he invited me, but I... persuaded him to have Margo added to the guest list."

Quentin blinks, frowning in thought. "'Persuaded him,' like..."

"We were fucking," Eliot says.

"Oh." Quentin blames the uptick in his heartbeat to the crowds around them. "Who..." He clears his throat. "Who was it?"

Eliot smiles at a group of girls as they walk by, and then turns to follow a half-naked guy with an appreciative gaze as he passes. Quentin looks back, too, and sees that he's wearing a literal G-string. "Brett," Eliot says, almost as an afterthought.

Quentin trips on air. " _Brett?_ " he repeats, incredulous, as his gaze snaps back to Eliot. His chest _definitely_ feels weird now, but he's determined not to pay any attention. "I didn't think he was. I mean, he never seemed like he was bi? Or gay, or. Anything other than like, a stereotypical frat boy, to be honest."

"You'd be surprised what stereotypical frat boys get up to behind closed doors," Eliot says. He meets Quentin's gaze, and gives him a meaningful once-over. "Besides, I tend to have that effect on straight guys."

It takes a moment for Quentin to realize what Eliot is getting at, and then he frowns. "I'm not straight," he says, maybe a little too sharply. "Hate to bruise your ego, but I'm bi."

Eliot raises his eyebrows. "Huh," he says. "All right. I can work with that."

* * *

Eliot gets them back to their rooms, grasping Quentin by the elbow more than once to guide him around groups of magicians experiencing varying levels of intoxication. Even on the first day, everything is already very loud and bright and hot. Quentin just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, and doesn't really look up until they reach the apartments again.

Eliot releases him once they get inside, and disappears into the bathroom. "Find your speedos, dear," he calls after him. "We're going to hit the pool."

 _Dear?_ Quentin mouths to himself, brows raised, before shaking his head and turning to his luggage. He hadn't packed a speedo, but he had packed some swimming trunks, including a pair that Julia said showed off his ass nicely. Quentin hesitates before pulling that pair out, quickly shucking his clothes and pulling it on before Eliot comes back out of the bathroom. "Pool, huh?" he wonders, voice pitched so Eliot can hear him. "Why not the beach?"

"Beach tomorrow," Eliot says. "Relax with cocktails now."

Quentin shakes his head, a small, fond smile on his face as he digs out his sunscreen and starts applying it while waiting for Eliot to finish with... whatever he's doing in there. "Hey, um, El, can you get my back when you get out? I turn into a fucking lobster if I don't have sunscreen on, and that's... not really how I want to start the week off."

Footsteps herald Eliot's return a moment later; he draws up behind Quentin, takes the bottle from him, and then deft hands are massaging sunscreen into his skin. "No wonder you're so high-strung," Eliot murmurs, his voice low. "You're carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders."

Quentin has a brief, wild thought of, _You're not helping!_ "Yeah, um. Downside of - of anxiety," he says, desperately trying not to let the feeling of Eliot's hands on his shoulders and back, all the places he can't reach himself, affect him anymore than strictly necessary. Thankfully, though Eliot seems to let his hands linger longer than Quentin thinks necessary for applying sunscreen, he doesn't take an obscenely long time. When he pulls back, Quentin turns around, hand out for the sunscreen bottle, only to practically swallow his tongue and make a noise that sounds embarrassingly like "Bwung?"

Eliot's wearing a pair of swim trunks that reach midthigh and not a centimeter lower, and are just a bit too tight to _really_ be called 'loose-fitting.' They're an attractive navy color, and while Quentin's seen Eliot in nothing but an untied robe and sleep pants before, it's an entirely different effect, seeing Eliot standing in front of him for all intents and purposes _naked._ For a man who seems to abhor physical labor of any kind, Eliot's shoulders and chest are well-defined, and it's only previous exposure to it that keeps Quentin from swaying in place with the temptation to follow Eliot's happy trail with his fucking _tongue_ all the way down to - 

To - 

To where Quentin can just _barely_ make out a, well. A bigger-than-proportionate outline in Eliot's swim trunks. 

Eliot smirks. "Do you like the colour?" he asks, like he doesn't know exactly where Quentin's mind just went. "It was either this or hot pink."

Quentin's gaze snaps up to Eliot's face, but that goddamn smirk doesn't really help. "Uh. I don't. I don't think hot pink is... really your color. This is - It's nice."

Eliot's smirk deepens, and he lets his own gaze roam indulgently over Quentin. "Thank you," he says. "You look lovely. Are you ready to go?"

”Um. Yeah.” Quentin glances around the room, tries to think if he’s missing anything vital, but then nods. “Yeah,” he says again, more firmly. “Let’s go.”

Eliot smiles and slips an arm around Quentin's shoulders. "Shall we pick the girls up on the way? If Margo had her way they'd be fucking already, but I doubt Alice would allow that."

Quentin thinks he does an admirable job of disguising the choking noise he makes as a cough. "Um, yeah, I think - I think Alice is gonna make her work a _little_ harder than that."

Eliot smiles. "I think Margo thinks she's worth it."

Quentin glances up at Eliot, gaze assessing, and after a moment he relaxes and even goes so far as to give Eliot the least-tense smile he's been able to muster since they arrived. "Well, good. Because she is."

* * *

Quentin had thought that being a regular attendee of the Physical Cottage parties would prepare him for the sheer chaos that Eliot and Margo promised Encanto Oculto would be, but he'd vastly underestimated the lengths people are willing to go when they're finally able to cut loose. There are as many people sans swimwear of any kind as there are people wearing extremely skimpy swimwear at the pool, and the alcohol flows freely, a fact that Margo and Eliot take full advantage of. Quentin and Alice drink much more moderately for different reasons, and stick close to Margo and Eliot, especially when they pass by conspicuously warded spaces, where the air shimmers in a way that Quentin recognizes. He'd thought that the massive orgies were just an exaggeration, but the sheer _size_ of some of the warded areas says differently. 

Quentin and Alice retreat to their apartment shortly after the massive feast that was served for dinner, needing some time to decompress. Margo and Eliot come back shortly after they do, bringing with them some magically enhanced weed and alcohol. The four of them have their own private party that night, but Quentin pays for it the next morning with a vague headache that he just _knows_ is going to get worse as the day goes on.

The weather is beautiful, and as soon as they've gotten breakfast, Margo drags all three of them down to the beach. Sure enough, Quentin's headache gets worse with each haze of magical smoke they pass through, and his temples are throbbing in time with his heartbeat by the time they reach the shore. Quentin drags in a deep breath of the salty sea air, feels some of his headache fade away - only to return with a vengeance when the four of them turn a corner around a rock and Quentin almost trips over a trio of people who hadn't warded themselves. He whirls before he gets more than a glimpse, and as they call out an apology, Quentin marches off towards an outcropping of rock.

"Quentin?" Alice calls, clearly worried; Quentin pauses, turns to give her a brief, tight smile. 

"I need to get away from the crowds for a moment," he calls back. "I'll be right around here, I just... Need to take a breather."

Alice doesn't seem entirely mollified, but after a moment's scrutiny, she nods and steps in closer to Margo. "Alright."

Eliot gives him all of five minutes before he appears beside him and rests a hand on Quentin's shoulder. He's drunk, but only because he didn't really give himself time to get sober last night, and he may or may not have had a couple of mimosas with breakfast; his eyes are mostly clear when Quentin turns to look at him. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Quentin blows out a breath, shifting on the frankly uncomfortable rock he's sitting on. "Just... overwhelmed," he says, looking back over the sea. "Kinda a - a 'straw that broke the camel's back,' thing."

"Should I take you back to the room?" Eliot asks.

Quentin shakes his head. "I really, um, don't feel up to walking back through all of... that."

Eliot nods. "All right," he says. "What do you need?"

"I just..." Quentin sighs. "It's _all_ just. A lot. I mean, I knew it would be? But I guess I overestimated my ability to handle it. I've got a headache from all the smoke and noise, I can't drink a lot - and wouldn't if I could, honestly - and there's so _many_ people."

Eliot reaches out to touch Quentin's hand, warmth and understanding in his gaze. "If you need to go, you can," he says.

"No, I don't - I don't want to _leave,_ " Quentin protests. "Not like. Entirely? But, um. Getting away from all of this... chaos might help."

Eliot takes a breath. "All right," he says. "Why don't we take a walk?"

Quentin blinks. "You don't have to babysit me," he says, glancing at Eliot and then back away, not making a move to get up. 

"You're not a baby," Eliot says. "I invited you here so that I could spend time with you. If you're not having fun, we need to do something else."

Quentin looks back at Eliot, assessing, but after a moment he tentatively offers, "I... was looking forward to a beach day. Haven't been to the beach in years."

"Well, we're on the beach," Eliot points out. "Why don't we walk to the edge of the wards, find somewhere a little quieter to hang out?"

Quentin hesitates for another moment before he nods. "Alright," he says. "That sounds nice."

Eliot gets to his feet and holds his hand out. "Then let's go."

Quentin takes Eliot’s hand, lets Eliot pull him to his feet and help him off of the rocks that they’d been sitting on. They set off down the beach, away from the buzzing, pulse-pounding background noise of the main party. The farther they walk, the more tension leeches from Quentin’s shoulders, until he’s able to walk without feeling like a marionette. He doesn’t feel like he can _breathe_ until they reach the very edge of the largest wards, the ones separating the magical partygoers from the non-magical tourists. There’s no one around but the two of them, and Quentin’s so relieved to be out of the crowd that he can’t even make himself feel anxious about being alone with Eliot. “This is much better,” he sighs, turning his face to the breeze coming off of the sea.

Eliot smiles. "Good," he says. "Do you want to sit?"

"Yeah," Quentin says. "For a little bit. Then I want to go swimming."

Eliot grins. "Excellent."

* * *

The longer they sit on the beach, the better that Quentin feels. The sun is beating down on them, but there's enough of a breeze that they don't feel the heat as badly as they otherwise would have. Quentin loses track of time in the easy silence between them, but eventually he breaks it. "Is the whole week going to be like that?" he asks without looking at Eliot, focusing out on the sea.

"If anything, it'll get worse," Eliot admits. "Everyone just keeps drinking and getting high, and wards kind of stop being a thing after a while."

Quentin sighs. "That's what I was afraid of."

Eliot looks at him. "Too much?" he asks.

Quentin draws his knees up to his chest. "A little," he admits, a wry twist to his smile. "I guess I just... was thinking it was going to be like the parties at the Cottage? But I kinda underestimated how wild it would feel, and _overestimated_ how well I could handle it. This isn't a - a familiar place, and I didn't. Account for that, I guess."

Eliot nods. "That makes sense," he says. "I'm sorry we didn't prepare you better."

Quentin shakes his head, glancing at Eliot. "That's not your fault." He hesitates, worrying his lower lip for a moment before admitting, "I. Also, kind of, maybe said yes to seem... cool?" He winces even as he admits that, adding in a rush, "I panicked a little, you and Margo had this _look_ on your faces, and I wanted to say yes anyway, I just. Forgot to ask for more details before really committing?"

"Q," Eliot says, wincing. He takes a breath. "I know we model ourselves as some kind of elitist perfection club, but you really don't have to worry about looking cool around us."

"I know," Quentin assures him. "I just, well. Like I said, I panicked, and then didn't actually think about the important things."

"Well you're thinking about them now," Eliot says.

Quentin inclines his head. "Yeah. And if things are just going to keep getting more intense, I don't... I don't think that I could really handle that. I'd end up spending the whole week in the hotel, probably warded to the gills. And that doesn't really sound _fun,_ for anyone."

"Then let's go home," Eliot says, like it's that simple.

Quentin blinks. "Us?"

Eliot shrugs. "I told you. I came here to spend time with you."

Quentin ducks his head, cheeks warming in a way that has nothing to do with the sun. "I, um, wouldn't blame you for wanting to stay here," he mumbles. "Seems like the kinda place you'd thrive in."

"I can come next year," Eliot says. "And any year I want to after that. I can't spend the first break of the year we met really getting to know you ever again."

Quentin looks at Eliot with wide eyes for a moment before he smiles, a small, shy thing. "Well, um. Let's... finish our beach day, and then we can head back?"

"Sure," Eliot agrees. "I'll send a message to Margo when we're ready to go. Not that she'll give a shit, but she might sober up at some point and worry we've died."

Quentin snorts. "Send it to Vix - I mean, Alice. She's probably still mostly sober."

Eliot raises an eyebrow. "Vix," he repeats. "That's cute."

Quentin flushes. "She's... feisty enough. And we were turned into foxes, so."

Eliot smiles. "You guys are really close now, huh?"

Quentin laughs. "I mean, you go through the Secrets Trial naked, then spend a night cuddling for warmth naked, that... tends to form a pretty solid bond."

"I know," Eliot says. "Why do you think Margo and I are so close?"

Quentin blinks, considering. "That... does make sense. Did Mayakovsky chuck you two into the snow?"

"Oh yeah," Eliot laughs. "We didn't fuck either, though."

Quentin laughs. "What was his excuse for throwing you two out there?"

"We had no respect," Eliot laughs. "For him or for the craft, apparently."

Quentin laughs again. "I didn't, either," he confesses. "He just... I don't know, rubbed me the wrong way. Alice kept sticking up for me, though. So our last night, she got tossed out with me."

"Don't take it personally," Eliot says. "He hates everyone."

Quentin snorts. "Doesn't surprise me," he says, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm going to get in the water; you coming?"

Eliot gets to his feet as well, dusting himself off. "I'm right behind you."

* * *

The girls are nowhere to be seen when they go back to collect their things, so Eliot sends word to Margo that they're leaving before they portal back to the Cottage. Quentin still seems a little subdued, but Eliot is confident that he'll feel better once they get home. The portal drops them in the living room, and their arrival surprises the only person in the room so much that they let out an ungodly shriek. It's Todd, of course.

"Eliot!" Todd cries, jumping to his feet. "Quentin! What are you doing back?"

"Things got a bit too crazy," Quentin answers, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. 

"Oh, jeez," Todd says, all earnest sympathy. "Are you just dropping him off, Eliot? I wouldn't waste an invitation if you're going back."

"You wouldn't even last an hour, Todd," Eliot snaps.

Quentin blinks at Eliot's vehemence, offering Todd an apologetic look. "Sorry, we, um, both tapped out for the week."

"So we'll see you later," Eliot says, already guiding Quentin toward the stairs. "Or not, hopefully."

Quentin goes easily, but can't resist looking over his shoulder at Todd's disappointed expression one more time before they round the corner of the stairs. "You really don't think he'd last very long?"

"He's the living embodiment of a wet blanket," Eliot scoffs. "He'd get one look at a bare breast and piss himself."

Quentin snorts, stepping to the side so Eliot can unlock his door. "That's a little mean, El."

"Am I wrong though?" Eliot asks, holding the door open for Quentin to follow him in.

"Well, no," Quentin admits. "It's still mean, though. What's Todd ever done to you?"

Eliot rolls his eyes and sits down on his bed. "He just annoys me," he says. "He doesn't know how to be his own person, I can't... I have no patience for people like that."

Quentin hums thoughtfully as he settles onto the bed next to Eliot. "I guess I can see that," he concedes. "You're... really not patient with a lot of people."

Eliot gives him a tight smile. "No," he agrees. "I have very high standards, and I'm a bit of a diva, so."

"I never would have guessed," Quentin says, tone clearly teasing as he bumps his shoulder against Eliot's. 

Eliot laughs and bumps Quentin back. "Do you feel better now that we're here?" he asks.

Quentin takes in a deep breath, leaning back against some of Eliot's pillows as he nods. "Yeah, I do," he hums. "Still a bit... I don't know, maybe tired? Mentally, I mean. And a little physically. But it's better, being here. Not as loud, even in my own head."

"You can go hang out in your own room if you want," Eliot offers. "Or you can rest here, whatever."

Quentin hesitates. "I'd... rather stay here," he confesses. "I. Um. I like the way it feels, being around you."

A slow smile spreads over Eliot's face, and he stretches out beside Quentin, resting against the pillows Quentin isn't using. "Well, stay as long as you like," he says. "I like the way it feels, too."

Quentin's own smile matches Eliot's, and he settles more comfortably against the pillows behind himself, pulling his phone out and flicking idly through social media and a couple of games. The silence that falls between them is easy, not something that _needs_ to be filled - until Quentin realizes that he's just been refreshing Twitter for the past ten minutes. He bites his lip for a moment, indecisive, before saying, "Hey, um. El? This is gonna sound - a little whiny, and maybe kinda stupid, but... I'm, uh. Bored."

Eliot looks up from his own phone and grins. "Then we must entertain you," he says. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Quentin admits. 

"We could watch a movie," Eliot suggests. "Take a walk. Have a drink?"

"I don't really want to go anywhere," Quentin says, a little sheepish. "I'm pretty comfortable here. But... maybe a movie and a drink or two?"

Eliot considers him, and then pulls his laptop out from under the bed. "Password is margolovesdick, because she set it herself in first year and it's true. Find us something to watch, I'll find us something to drink."

Quentin looks surprised by Eliot's trust in him, but he smiles and takes the laptop. "Alright. In the mood for anything in particular?"

"Something funny," Eliot says, already halfway out the door. "With a sprinkle of cheesy romance."

Quentin flicks through the movie selection once the laptop is unlocked while Eliot is gone, and by the time he comes back, glasses and bottles in hand, Quentin's made a choice. "How does _50 First Dates_ sound?"

"Oh god," Eliot groans, laughing as he settles back onto the bed. "If we're watching Adam Sandler classics we're going to need something stronger than wine."

"Something like what?" Quentin asks, grinning, as he starts the movie and lets himself slide a little closer to Eliot when the bed dips beneath him. 

"Well, that depends," Eliot says, pouring Quentin a glass of expensive-looking red. "I could crack the vodka out, or..."

"Or?" Quentin asks, taking the glass Eliot's holding out to him. 

Eliot grins at him. "I may have smuggled a little taste of Ibiza back home with us."

Quentin laughs. "Why am I not surprised?" he snickers. "Let's finish this bottle off before we go back to Ibiza."

Eliot lets Quentin drink most of the wine while he rolls them a joint, and once Quentin has drained the last dregs from his glass he offers it to him. "Have you done this before?" he asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Once," Quentin says. "Years ago."

Eliot chuckles. "This will probably feel a little different."

Quentin looks nervous, but not quite apprehensive, as he finally takes the blunt from Eliot's fingers, snapping his own in a quick popper to light it. He hesitates for only a moment before he lifts the end to his lips, pulling in a careful drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he slowly blows it out. "Holy _shit._ "

Eliot grins at him and takes the joint back. "Right? I could've gotten a blend that makes you taste colour, or one that zones you out into a past life, but I figured we'd ease you into that."

Quentin laughs, briefly distracted by the way Eliot's sheets brush against his skin. "I, uh, appreciate that."

Eliot exhales the smoke, tipping his head back with a sigh as every inch of him relaxes. "Oh, I needed that."

Quentin can't seem to drag his gaze away from the line of Eliot's throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. "Yeah?" he asks, for lack of anything better coming to his suddenly-distracted brain. 

Eliot gives him a lazy smile and offers him the blunt. "Careful," he says. "I'll think you like you what you see."

Quentin flushes, but he doesn't look away. "Wouldn't be very surprising, though. If I did."

"Maybe not," Eliot allows. "But it's nice to know something's mutual."

Quentin's flush deepens, and his gaze drops to the laptop screen between them, where the movie still plays. "Well. Knowing's better than, uh, ignorance, isn't it? Or just... hoping."

"Absolutely." Eliot smiles at him, but follows his lead and returns his attention to the movie, too. They spend a few minutes watching and passing the blunt between them before he speaks again. "God," he sighs, "remember when I said I'd find you and seduce you if Fogg wiped your memory? Imagine if I had to do that _every day_."

Quentin laughs, the thought humorous the way that almost _everything_ is when he's this kind of high. "Lot of effort," he agrees. 

Eliot laughs, too, though it sounds more like a giggle. "I'd do it, though," he insists. "Every day, if I had to."

"Stubborn, aren't you?" Quentin teases. 

Eliot grins and takes another drag. "Oh, honey," he sighs, exhaling the smoke. "You have no idea."

Quentin grins, taking the blunt when Eliot passes it back and settling more comfortably against Eliot as he takes another drag. "It's one of your more endearing qualities," he admits on a curl of smoke. 

"One of very few," Eliot chuckles.

Quentin snorts, elbowing Eliot lightly and passing the blunt back. "Give yourself a little more credit."

Eliot doesn't respond, just takes the blunt and spends several long moments smoking. When he turns back to Quentin, his eyes are a little glazed over and there's a lazy smile playing about his lips. "Has anyone told you how lovely you are?" he asks.

Quentin immediately flushes, gaze dropping to where their hips are pressed together. "Not that I remember," he mumbles. 

"Well, you are." Eliot stretches the hand holding the blunt out so that he doesn't drop ash everywhere or set fire to the bedding, and rolls onto his side so that he and Quentin are face-to-face, chests touching. "This is me officially telling you. You're really rather beautiful."

Quentin's face is red, his eyes wide as he searches Eliot's gaze. After a moment, he licks his lips and says, quietly, "So're you."

Eliot's smile widens, and he leans back just enough to take a final drag and offer the blunt to Quentin. "Finish that," he says. "I want to kiss you."

Quentin takes it, rather proud of the way his fingers don't shake, and takes one last long drag, shifting so he can deposit the butt on the closest ashtray before rolling back towards Eliot, letting the smoke out on an exhale before he finishes the movement. "All done," he says, a soft murmur. 

Eliot grins at him, and his smile is a little too wide, his eyes a little too bright, but that doesn't stop him. He slides his hand over Quentin's jaw, fingers teasing their way into his hair, and draws him in for a soft, smoky kiss. Quentin goes easily, lips parting as his own hand lifts to slide over Eliot's shoulder, pulling them closer. When Eliot's fingers tug at his hair, Quentin can't help the moan that escapes him, grip tightening on Eliot's shoulder. He _whines_ when the kiss finally ends, the both of them panting for breath. " _El,_ " he whispers, a prayer and a plea at once. 

"Shhh," Eliot soothes him, his thumb stroking gently at Quentin's cheek. "I've got you." Quentin makes a noise that may or may not be a whimper, pressing in close for another kiss, shifting until he can wrap his arm around Eliot's waist. Eliot grants him the next kiss easily enough, and the next; when they part again, he can't help the sappy smile on his face. "I've wanted to do that for weeks," he admits, only slightly out of breath.

Quentin's grinning. "Weeks?"

"Of course," Eliot laughs, pulling Quentin even closer against him. "Have I not been making myself clear? I'm very attracted to you."

Quentin can't help the anxious note in his voice as he confesses, "I just... thought you were always that intense."

"Oh, I am," Eliot assures him, kissing him again, "but only with a very select few. You're top of the list."

Quentin pulls back briefly, gaze searching Eliot's for a moment before he relaxes back into Eliot's embrace. Their drinks are safely out of the way, movie playing unheeded in the background as the two of them lose themselves to easy touches and kisses, trading each as easy as breathing until they finally fall asleep, wrapped in each other. 

* * *

When Eliot wakes in the small hours of the next morning, it takes him a second to realise he's being kissed. Once he does, and he realises who's doing the kissing, he grins without opening his eyes and wraps his arms around Quentin to pull him even closer. "Hey," he murmurs into the breath of space between their lips. "So this is something we're still doing."

"Absolutely," Quentin hums. "Long as you're up for it."

"Mmm," Eliot sighs. "I'm definitely _up_ for something."

Quentin snickers, even as he rolls his hips against Eliot’s. “That’s an awful pun,” he informs Eliot, pressing in for another kiss.

”Maybe,” Eliot hums, “but you’re still here.” He rolls his hips under Quentin, eliciting a breathless gasp from him. They don’t talk much after that, not with _words._ They speak in movements, in the press of lips and tongues, the brush of skin against skin, the bite of teeth against the most sensitive places. They communicate in sighs and gasps and moans, climbing higher in pitch and intensity until the two of them tumble over the edge almost simultaneously, spilling hot and wet across Eliot’s stomach and their hands, Quentin’s face buried in Eliot’s neck, Eliot’s free hand buried in his air, grip twisting into that deliciously-painful tightness that makes Quentin’s hips stutter and his breath hitch.

It takes them a long time to part afterwards, trading kisses and soft touches with the hands that _aren’t_ sticky with their come, but eventually Quentin can’t stand it anymore, magics their hands and stomachs clean so that they can lounge in bed for a while longer, until his stomach finally puts its metaphorical foot down. “I’m going to go grab something to eat,” he murmurs, pulling himself away from Eliot with a great force of will. “I’m fucking starving.”

Eliot laughs a deep, satisfied laugh, and lets him go. "The munchies hit late with this strain," he concedes. "Bring me back something ridiculously decadent."

Quentin, already in his pants, lifts a hand in acknowledgement as he steps out of the door, making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Early morning light is only just starting to filter through the windows, still dim enough that Quentin is automatically reaching for the light switch for the kitchen, only to pause when he finds that the lights are already on. "Oh," he says, a bit dumbly; he hadn't thought any other Physical kids would be up yet, but he's not surprised that Brett is, standing next to the blender. "Um. Morning."

"Morning," Brett drawls, giving Quentin an amused once-over. "Looks like someone got laid last night."

Quentin blushes, though he manages to fight the urge to duck his head. "That's - " He clears his throat, tries again. "That's not really any of your business."

Brett's eyes flash. "So, yes," he says. "Was it Eliot?"

"How is _that_ any of your business, either?" Quentin snaps, defensive. 

"So, yes again." Brett laughs. "Wow. Guess I'll have to pay up."

Quentin freezes. " _What?_ "

Brett shrugs. "I bet him he wouldn't be able to get you into bed," he says. "But obviously I was wrong."

Quentin takes a deep breath, pushes past the sudden static in his head, and manages to roll his eyes. "Right. Well, that - that sounds like it's something between you and him. I'm just here to get some food."

Brett snorts and heads for the stairs. "Whatever," he says. "Enjoy the rest of your morning."

Quentin barely waits until Brett is out of sight before he heads for the door, thankful it's so early because there's no _way_ he's going back upstairs for a shirt right now. He practically runs the entire way to Julia's dorm.

* * *

Six days later, Margo and Alice return from Ibiza to find Eliot in the living room of the Cottage with - 

"Brett," Margo says, _far_ too sweetly. "What are you doing here? I thought you were leaving for the week."

Brett shrugs, taking the drink that Eliot's in the process of handing him. "Plans changed."

"Margo," Eliot says, flashing them both a strained smile. "Alice. So good to have you back! Care for a Long Island Iced Tea?"

Margo doesn't bother to hide her disgusted look. "Absolutely not," she says. 

"Alice?" Eliot prompts.

Alice shakes her head, her gaze flitting between Eliot and Margo. "No, thank you."

Eliot shrugs. "Fine," he says, "more for me." He takes a long drink from the glass in his hand and resumes his seat beside Brett on the sofa. "How was your trip, ladies?"

"Wonderful," Margo says, not making a move to come closer just yet; her gaze is shrewd, calculating. "We had quite a lot of fun, made some good memories. Where's Q?" 

Eliot laughs harshly. "Fuck if I know."

"Saw him the morning after you two came back," Brett offers, sipping his drink. "Haven't seen him since."

Eliot turns to look at him, his eyes wide. "You didn't tell me that."

Brett shrugs. "Didn't come up."

Margo looks dangerously close to gritting her teeth. "Did you talk to him?"

Brett shrugs again. "A little. He mostly stammered, didn't say much."

"What _did_ he say?" Eliot asks.

"Said something about only wanting to get food after I figured out you won our bet."

" _What bet?_ " Eliot and Margo snap together.

Brett raises an eyebrow. "The one about you getting Coldwater into bed, dude."

"You made a bet about that?" Alice demands. Both she and Margo look at Eliot with twin expressions of disgust.

" _No,_ " Eliot insists. "I..." He turns to Brett. " _You_ made a stupid comment at a party, _weeks_ ago, and I told you to get fucked."

"Uh, no," Brett scoffs. "I bet no one would be able to get a nerd like Coldwater into bed with them, and you said 'Just watch me.'"

"That's not the same thing!" Eliot cries. He turns his imploring gaze to Margo. "That's not the same thing."

"No," Margo says, her voice icy and dangerous. "It's really not." Brett shifts on the couch, opens his mouth - but before he can say anything, Margo's hands are twisting in the air, and he _freezes,_ then shrinks - and keeps shrinking, until there's a toad sitting in his spot on the couch. "Alice, grab me a jar from the kitchen, would you?" she asks, stepping forward to pluck the now-croaking toad up. "We need to make sure he doesn't go anywhere while we fix his mess."

Eliot blinks, and then springs to his feet. "Bambi, you're an angel," he says. "Truly. You've got this, yeah?"

"If by 'this' you mean making this shitheel regret ever speaking to any of us, then yes, yes I do." The soft look Margo gives Eliot is a stark contrast to her venomous words. "Go get your nerd, El."

Eliot doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Julia barely cracks the door open after Eliot's frantic knocking before she yanks it open just wide enough to step out into the hallway, pulling the door shut again behind her and forcing Eliot back a step. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" she hisses, reaching out and poking Eliot in the chest. "You're lucky I'm not tossing your ass right back down those stairs!"

"Please hear me out," Eliot says, very quickly, his hands raised in surrender. "I didn't know why Q left that morning. I thought _he_ was rejecting _me_ , that's the only reason why I didn't come sooner. This is all a huge misunderstanding."

Julia's eyes narrow, but she does shift her stance so that, while she's still blocking the door, it's defensive, not aggressive. "You have one minute. Explain."

"It was a throwaway comment," Eliot says desperately. "From Brett. I brushed him off, and forgot all about it until he brought it up again today. I had no idea it was even a conversation we'd had, let alone that he'd brought it up to Quentin."

Julia scrutinizes him. "And you couldn't even fucking _text_ him for a whole week?" she demands. "He wasn't even all that upset about Brett's comments, what he thought happened, he was more upset that _his friend_ didn't even try to check up on him. I convinced him at the beginning of the semester that you and Margo _weren't_ like those assholes from high school, the It Club that was always making fun of us. Convinced him to give _you_ a chance because you didn't seem like that, didn't have an ulterior motive for trying to be his friend. And then you went and proved me wrong!"

Eliot takes a breath. "I know how this looks," he says, "and you're not entirely wrong. I'm not trying to make excuses. But as far as it looked from my perspective, Quentin just bolted immediately after we slept together. I didn't think he wanted anything to do with me. And if he's sending such a clear message, no matter how much I care about him, who am I to push? Julia, you may think I'm part of the It Club. I may even act like it. And if you ever repeat this, I'll deny it to my dying breath. But I am deeply, deeply insecure. I just couldn't face him."

Julia doesn't say anything for another moment, just continues staring at Eliot until, finally, she blows out a breath. "Alright. I told him if that if you _did_ turn out like those dicks, I'd kick your ass to kingdom come. I'm giving you _one_ chance to fix this. You fuck this up even further, and I will kick your ass so thoroughly it's gonna leave the fucking stratosphere."

"Just let me see him," Eliot pleads. "I won't fuck it up."

"One chance, Waugh," Julia warns him, stepping to the side. "That's all you’re getting."

Eliot passes her into her room, and is grateful when she shuts the door behind him without following. He takes a moment to steel himself, and looks up. "Hey, Q."

Quentin is already watching him, every part of him radiating caution. "Hey, Eliot."

Eliot fights the urge to fidget. "Can we talk?" he asks.

Quentin bites his lip, but nods. "Must've... made a pretty good case to Jules if she let you in here," he says quietly, gaze dropping from Eliot to his hands. "So. Talk."

Eliot doesn't hesitate. "I'm so sorry," he blurts out. "I know you think I made some terrible bet with Brett, but I didn't. I swear to God. Yes, he made a stupid comment; yes, I acknowledged it - but only long enough to tell him to fuck off. I would never do that to you, Quentin."

"And - And the _week_ of silence?"

"I didn't know about the bet thing until about twenty minutes ago," Eliot explains. "I thought you'd just bolted right after... you know. And I figured I needed to respect that."

Quentin takes in a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought we were friends," he whispers without looking up. "And I thought... Okay, I could get past the bet if there _was_ one, because I never liked Brett, don't trust him at all. But I thought we'd be okay because I thought we were friends, and then you just... Never said anything. No 'hey you okay' texts or - or _anything._ And I thought... Maybe it was all..." Quentin makes a vague gesture towards his head. "I didn't really think that, but. Nothing else made sense."

"Nothing else made sense to me, either," Eliot says, needing Quentin to understand. "I thought it meant nothing to you, or that..." He swallows. "In my darkest moments I thought maybe you'd just wanted to bed the campus queer and call it good. I thought I'd lost you, and if that was the case, I didn't know how to reach out."

Quentin swallows audibly, finally looking up. "It wasn't that," he says, voice steady for all that it’s quiet, small. "But I. I get not knowing how to reach out. I didn't, either." He licks his lips, asks, "So, if there - if there wasn't a bet, then...?"

"Then it was exactly what it looked like,' Eliot tells him. "I wanted you. I liked you." He laughs, helpless. "I really _like_ you, Q."

"I really like you, too," Quentin confesses, flushing lightly. 

"Margo is in the process of eviscerating Brett," Eliot tells him. "Whatever he said to you means nothing. I know I've fucked up in immeasurable ways this week, but if you can ever forgive me, you need to know. I want to be with you, Q."

Quentin doesn't make a move to get closer to Eliot just yet, nor does he give any indication that Eliot can move closer. "You want to be _with_ me, like - "

"Like, with you," Eliot finishes. "Like, however you'll take me. I hate that Brett got in the way, that everything's so messed up right now, but if you'll give me a chance, I swear I won't fuck it up this time."

Quentin searches Eliot’s gaze for a long moment, his own unreadable. “How… How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I wouldn't let you out of my fucking sight for one thing," Eliot tells him. "Fuck both of our baggage, and double-fuck my aloof, devil-may-care attitude. I'd do it right. Kiss you awake, bring you breakfast in bed, keep you close all day. Give you absolutely no reason to doubt that I'm fucking... infatuated with you, honestly. And have been since we met."

Quentin flushes, but he smiles, looks pleased as he finally - _finally_ \- slides off of Julia's bed and steps closer to Eliot. "That sounds... really nice," he admits. "And, for the record? I'm pretty infatuated with you, too."

Eliot smiles, but he doesn't move to close the distance between them. "I'm setting almost impossible standards for myself here," he warns. "I've never done this before. I don't know the first thing about how to be in a..." He shudders. "Relationship. But I get the feeling you're not the no-strings-attached type, and I don't want that from you, anyway."

Quentin laughs quietly. "No, I - You're right. I really _can't_ do casual. But if you... If you want the whole package, then. It's not just on you, y'know. It'd be both of us, and I. I think we can figure it out."

Eliot grins. "Let's hope so," he says. "If you haven't already noticed, I'm a fucking mess."

"So am I," Quentin reminds him. "Now will you _please_ get over here? I've - " He flushes abruptly. "I missed you."

Eliot doesn't need telling twice. He crosses the space between them in two strides and sweeps Quentin into his arms. "I missed you, too," he says, and kisses him.

Quentin leans readily into the kiss, his own arms wrapping around Eliot's waist as he sighs, finally _relaxing_ for the first time in a week. He tilts his head just so when they come together for another kiss, is just starting to think - 

"You two better not be fucking on my bed or Penny will pull a Freddy Kreuger on you!"

Eliot pulls back just enough that he isn't laughing directly into Quentin's mouth, but doesn't let him go. "Well, there goes that idea," he chuckles, his eyes sparkling. "Shall we get out of here?"

Quentin grins, takes a step back and slips his hand into Eliot's. "Let's go."

* * *

Margo and Alice are waiting for them when they get back to the Cottage - at least that's what it looks like at first, but as they draw closer they see that they're actually just making out fiercely on the sofa. Eliot clears his throat. "Sorry to interrupt," he says, "but we thought we'd tell you we've gotten our shit together."

Margo looks up from where she's practically sitting in Alice's lap to give them a raised eyebrow. "It's about goddamn time," she says, then grins. "Did Julia kick you two out?"

"No," Eliot lies. "We just wanted to come back to our own home, thank you. But you two clearly have more gossip than we do, so spill."

Margo doesn't look convinced, but she lets the subject drop for the moment. "There's not much to tell," she says, shifting out of Alice's lap and making room for Quentin and Eliot to join them on the couch, smiling when Quentin immediately slots himself in behind Alice, accepting a brief hug from her. "You two abandoned us, we had to entertain ourselves."

"So is this a thing now?" Eliot asks.

Margo glances at Alice, her expression soft in a way Eliot's never seen directed at anyone but him. "Yeah. It is."

Eliot blinks, unable to keep the surprise off his face when Alice reaches out to touch Margo's hand, something equally tender in her own gaze. He turns to Quentin. "Well," he says. "Guess that's our thunder stolen."

Quentin grins. "I'm not mad. I'm happy for you two."

"Me too," Eliot says. "God, of course. We should all have dinner together to celebrate. I'll cook."

Alice smiles. "That sounds lovely."

Margo beams. "You don't cook nearly enough," she says, sliding off of the couch and moving closer to Eliot until she can press in close, stretch up and kiss his cheek. "Have you cooked for Q yet?"

"He cooked me a hangover breakfast once," Quentin says. "But that's not dinner."

"I've been meaning to," Eliot says. "But now I have the perfect excuse. Any requests?"

"Creamy pesto chicken?" Margo asks hopefully. "In a bread bowl. I've been _dying_ to have that again for months."

"That _does_ sound good," Quentin says, turning his own hopeful gaze on Eliot. 

Eliot chuckles and leans over to kiss the top of Quentin's head. "Whatever you want, dears."

* * *

Eliot doesn't mess around. He spends the rest of that day getting reacquainted with Quentin, proving to him just how invested in this relationship he is, and spends the next day on dinner prep. By the time Quentin, Alice and Margo are seated around the dining table, the other Cottage residents having been warned to make themselves scarce first thing this morning, dinner has been cooked to perfection, and Eliot is beyond smug. "Tuck in, everyone," he instructs. "Quentin, could you pour the wine?"

"Are you sure you want to trust him with that?" Margo teases, laughing when Quentin flips her off before reaching for the wine. He uncorks it with magic, setting the cork to the side before carefully pouring everyone a glass of a very nice red.

"This smells amazing, El," Quentin says once he's sitting down again, reaching for Eliot's hand and squeezing briefly. "Can't believe you went to the trouble of making the bread yourself, though."

"I like baking bread," Eliot says. "It's relaxing."

Quentin smiles, tearing off a piece of his bread bowl to dip in the sauce covering his pasta. "Well," he says after he finishes chewing, "it's definitely worth it. This is _amazing._ "

"It is really good, Eliot," Alice agrees. "Thank you."

Eliot grins. "It was my pleasure," he says. He raises his wine glass. "We are celebrating. Shall we drink to something? Health, wealth, and excellent sex?"

"Sounds like a good toast to me," Margo says, raising her own glass. "Gods know we're already good at the sex, but you can always get better."

They all clink their glasses together and drink, and as Eliot sets his own glass down, he says, "So, tell me all about Ibiza. What did we miss? Was it spectacular?"

"It was _amazing,_ " Margo sighs. "There was this new drink, made with enchanted grapes and strawberries that had us _literally_ floating on air."

"Wow," Eliot says. "Who do I have to kill for the recipe?"

"Nobody; Alice stole it," Margo says, grinning. "Or pirated it, might be more accurate."

Quentin barks a laugh, looking at Alice. "How'd you pull that off?"

Alice flushes. "I used my boobs to distract the bartender into telling me the recipe, and then I used magic to revisit the memory and write it down."

Margo looks extremely proud, and Quentin laughs even harder. "Vix! That must be one hell of a drink."

Eliot chuckles. "She's learning from the best, Q," he says. "You'll catch up."

Quentin's laughter tapers off into a chuckle, and he smiles at Eliot. "I'm not that devious," he protests. "Julia, on the other hand... Well, I was always the distraction, usually unwillingly. She'd encourage me to talk to someone, and then I'd find out her plot later."

Eliot gives him an indulgent smile and touches his arm. "Don't worry, sweetie," he teases. "I won't do that to you unless it's for something very exciting."

"That makes me feel so much better," Quentin says dryly. "Your definition of 'very exciting' is a lot different than mine."

"Speaking of, how did you two spend your beach day?" Margo asks, interested. "And the first part of your week back here."

"We spent the day swimming and sunbathing," Eliot tells her. "Perfectly relaxed and civilised. And as for the rest of the week..." He smirks. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Bambi."

Margo rolls her eyes, but before she can comment, Quentin interrupts. "What about you two? How did this - " He gestures between Margo and Alice. " - finally happen?"

Alice actually _giggles._ "I fell for her," she says. "Literally, on the come-down from that drink. And then I made a joke about falling for her and we kissed." She glances at Quentin. "Apparently magical drugs make me a lot smoother than usual."

Quentin grins. "Apparently," he teases, reaching across the table to give Alice's hand a squeeze. "I'm happy for you, though. It's about damn time."

Alice smiles back. "Speak for yourself," she teases. "We've all been waiting for you two to open your eyes since the start of the year."

Quentin flushes. "Yeah, well, can you blame me for taking a while to accept it?" he asks, gesturing at Eliot with a smile. "I mean, look at him."

"He _is_ pretty special," Margo agrees with a soft smile for Eliot. "But so are you. El wouldn't leave Encanto Oculto on the second day for just _anyone._ "

"There were extenuating circumstances," Eliot allows, not unkindly. "Besides, it's not like I can never go again."

Alice turns to Quentin, her eyes round with concern. "What happened, Q?" she asks.

"I overestimated how well I could handle the chaos," Quentin says with a wry smile. 

"Were you okay?" Alice asks.

"Once we got back, yeah," Quentin says. "We had a... nice night when we got back."

Margo raises an eyebrow. " _Oh?_ " she drawls. "Then why the theatrics when we got back?"

Quentin's flush deepens. "You know why, Eliot told me what you did to Brett."

"But if it was such a good night, why question his intentions in the first place?"

"Bambi," Eliot warns. "It's been dealt with."

"Anxiety is a bitch," Quentin offers, and Margo tilts her head in concession.

"Well. As long as you've both decided to quit being dumb boys..." She trails off, looking at Eliot and Quentin meaningfully, and Quentin smiles, reaching for Eliot's hand.

"We have. As much as we can, anyway; we _are_ boys."

Margo laughs. "Damn right you are. Just don't be quite _that_ stupid anymore, and you'll be fine."

Eliot grins. "I'll drink to that."

* * *

The rest of the semester flies by, and Quentin honestly can't remember a time when he was happier. He spends the winter break with his father, traveling back to Brakebills periodically to visit Eliot and Margo - and even organizing a small holiday party with Julia that brought their partners, Margo, and Alice to Ted Coldwater's house for Christmas dinner. Eliot and Ted get along well, Eliot quickly charming Ted with his manners and, in Ted's words, "the way you absolutely _dote_ on Q; I'm almost worried he'll get spoiled."

The spring semester starts, bringing new courses and professors and challenges, but weekday nights more often than not find Quentin and Eliot curled up together in different positions and configurations in the living room or library of the Cottage, and weekend nights find Quentin hanging out at the bar for most of the night, occasionally letting himself be pulled out to the dance floor before he and Eliot retire upstairs. 

They don't fuck every night, but more often than not they do share a bed. Quentin's favorite part of the day is waking up in Eliot's bed, before or after Eliot himself wakes. Either way, Eliot's smile is still one of the first things he sees, and it never fails to take his breath away - usually right before Eliot steals what little is left in a different way. They are damn near the perfect couple, and Quentin couldn't be happier, even after they finally have their first _major_ fight, set off by a sarcastic remark Quentin makes about Eliot's eyeliner one night after a stressful week trying to finish up three end-of-semester projects and two papers, and Eliot with an even heavier workload. It ends with Quentin storming from the Cottage and staying away for a full forty-eight hours, hiding out in Julia's dorm and only texting Eliot to let him know that he needs some time to decompress and think before he comes back and they talk. Eliot promises to the do the same - Quentin suspects his version of 'decompressing' involves copious amounts of alcohol and Margo's company - and when they finally see each other again, it's a difficult conversation, but they find a resolution and promise to try not to let things build so much again. 

Quentin would be lying if he said that they talked about that _before_ Eliot dragged him into his bedroom and rode Quentin's cock like they'd been separated for _years._ He's not complaining, though.

* * *

The Sunday before finals finds Quentin and Eliot studying in the Cottage library, Eliot's feet in Quentin's lap as they pore over their respective texts. Eliot isn't quiet about his displeasure at being forced to _actually_ study when they could be relaxing - said with a completely unsubtle wink - but Quentin had put his foot down, and Eliot had eventually agreed that it wouldn't hurt his reputation _that_ much if he was seen glancing over a text. "It might even motivate the other poor little struggling ducklings," he'd mused, and Quentin had just laughed. 

They've been there for close to two hours and Eliot is starting to squirm in a way that indicates either his ass is going numb or he's simply reached the end of his rope for studying today. Quentin is almost ready to call for a break himself, but they get interrupted before he can do more than set his book down. 

"Shit, it's almost pathetic to see how the mighty have fallen."

Quentin almost drops his book, turning to glare at the intruder - and suppresses a heavy sigh when he sees that it's Brett, who'd never gotten over Margo cursing him to wander around campus almost buck-ass naked, hopping like the toad she'd briefly turned him into, for a full eight hours. "Brett," he says, doing his best to keep his tone vaguely pleasant. "What do you want? Don't you have graduation rehearsal today?"

Brett snorts. "Later," he says, waving a dismissive hand. "I just had to make sure Hoberman didn't give me anything before the party. Never thought I'd see the day when _Eliot Waugh_ would be sitting in the library and _studying._ "

"At least I can get my grades without sucking my professors off," Eliot says mildly.

"No, you just pay for the exam answers in sex toys," Brett says snidely, and Quentin rolls his eyes. 

"Brett, you're leaving in a week," he says, voice flat. "Fuck off."

Eliot gives Brett a saccharine smile. "You heard the man."

"No, I don't think so; I don't take orders from first years," Brett says, coming around the back of Eliot's chair and heading for the empty one near it - only to fall flat on his ass as the chair flies back with a _screech_ of its legs against the hardwood floor right as he goes to sit down. 

Quentin doesn't even bother trying to hide his hands as he sketches another quick tut, yanking the chair forward again and smacking it into the back of Brett's head. "Oops," he says, completely unconvincingly as Brett stares at him, slack-jawed and holding his head. "My hands slipped."

"Your _hands_ \- " Brett leaps to his feet, expression thunderous, and his own hands raise, fingers curling into what's undoubtedly a retaliatory curse. 

Except, he never gets a chance to finish it. Brett's fingers have barely twitched before Quentin's jumped to his feet, hands flying in a pattern that Eliot recognizes - and a moment later, Brett is, once again, a toad on the floor. 

Eliot throws his head back and laughs. "Oh my _god_ , Q," he wheezes, wiping away tears as Brett lets out a particularly fierce _ribbit_ and starts to hop toward the door. His hands shake with his mirth as he works through a few tuts of his own, not reversing the spell entirely but adding a qualifier that he'll turn back just in time to be late to his graduation. "I love you," he sighs, "I really do, and that's exactly why."

Quentin startles, looking at Eliot with wide eyes, his own grin slipping in favor of an expression a lot more tentative with wary hope. "What did you say?"

Eliot stalls, swallows hard. "I," he croaks. "I guess I said I love you?"

Quentin's expression softens into something full of wonder. He licks his lips, takes a step closer to Eliot. "You mean it?"

Eliot swings his feet to the ground and stands up to meet him. He looks, ridiculously, nervous. "Yes? Yes, I mean it."

Watching a bright smile take over Quentin's expression is like watching the sun rise. "I love you, too."

"Oh," Eliot breathes. He stares at Quentin in wonder, and then he's falling forward, crushing Quentin to him in a fierce hug. He's laughing. "Thank god! I thought I'd just ruined everything."

Quentin buries his grin in Eliot's chest, pressing himself even closer as he wraps his arms around Eliot's waist. "You didn't," he assures Eliot, the words muffled. " _Fuck,_ I've been keeping it in for weeks now."

"Well, stop it," Eliot says, tucking Quentin's head more securely beneath his chin. "I'll say it every day if you will."

Quentin's answering laugh is a little wet. "Okay," he says, arms tightening briefly around Eliot. "Deal."


End file.
